Homewards
by S. Winter-Fitzgerald
Summary: Phryne has returned to London and this trip has lead her to think about 'home' and where it is.
1. Chapter 1

" _Why do you go away? So that you can come back. So that you can see the place you came from with new eyes and extra colors. And the people there see you differently, too. Coming back to where you started is not the same as never leaving." –A Hat Full of Sky, Terry Pratchett_

 **Chapter 1**

e looked up, trying to encompass as much of the white stucco-fronted townhouse as she could in a single glance. Phryne hadn't been to Chester Square in more than two years but everything seemed rather unchanged. _As it ought to be_ , she found herself thinking, perhaps uncharitably.

«Phryne», a familiar voice beckoned from the open door, a strange mixture of surprise and relief tingeing its sound.

Miss Fisher looked at her mother. Given that Margaret had taken after their mother's family looks and Prudence had taken after their father's, their common parentage shone through the perceptive brown eyes and the determination in the set line of their mouths instead of shared physical traits. Margaret was taller and her hair hadn't lightened very much yet - dark grey waves framed an oval face with the regal cheekbones which Phryne had inherited.

Phryne smiled. Their relationship hadn't always run smoothly but she was truly glad to see her mother, particularly after all this time.

«Welcome…», some word seemed poised to follow that but Margaret said «Oh, do come in, Phryne», instead, her right hand motioning towards the hall.

Miss Fisher kissed her mother on the cheek before walking in, a gesture that had first surprised Margaret but made her smile afterwards. At heart, Phryne had always been an affectionate child and it was always pleasant (and pride-inducing, she would confess) to see that life and its sometimes rough course hadn't changed that in her daughter. As if that kiss had carried some implicit permission, Margaret put her hand on Phryne's back and even if there wasn't any reason why she would, not in those circumstances at least and as far as she knew, relief took over her when Phryne didn't recoil at her touch. How could she had been only twenty when Phryne had been born? It all seemed to have taken place many lifetimes ago, and maybe it had.

«We'll have tea now, Hewitt», Margaret said to the man holding the door open, not knowing exactly how to follow up with Phryne – not for lack of words, quite the contrary.

He nodded and wanted for them to be in the hall before he could close the door and have the necessary arrangements made.

Phryne took stock of the hall – the black and white checkered floor, the tasteful medallion on the ceiling, and the wooden polished staircase covered by a well-maintained burgundy runner that led upwards. She didn't exactly mean to, but Phryne knew that most steps taken in that house, and probably most of the steps taken in London even, would be laden with comparisons and memories and meaning, which in some cases could be as simple as 'I haven't been here for two years'. It was a rather odd feeling given that she wasn't sure she would call that house and the places that made up her own map of London 'home'.

Margaret went up the stairs and Phryne followed her to the drawing room. It was a large and airy area despite the many paintings on the cream wallpapered walls and the solid dark furniture, most of it bought specifically for the house when the 4th Baron Fisher had taken the lease of the house from the aristocratic Grosvenor family.

Her mother sat on the green sofa in front of the lit fireplace while Phryne moved to the twin windows overlooking the garden. She recalled the thrill of getting the key, opening the gate and walking into it as if she were entering some fairly land. At 14, she had felt too old for that sort of musings sometimes, but she did enjoy sitting on the bench by the oldest plane tree or by the central rose garden and listen to the birds flying over her head, reading a book, imaging what she would do in her future or, much to her parents' dismay if not horror, put on a pair of trousers and climb the trees, a feat that had lead a handful of ruffled neighbours to that same drawing room she was standing in. _Tree climbing in Chester Square? Not even the gardeners do so – there are ladders, for goodness' sake._

 _Janey would have loved that garden, its green dome and shrubbery walls, inviting stories of adventures in unknown worlds._ If they had been able to come up with them in the dreary backyard of their dreary house in Collingwood, it would have been even easier and more pleasant to do so in such enchanting surroundings. Janey would also have loved the house, the wonderful setting to being a queen, an admiral back home after a long trip, or – particularly inspired by a collection of Gothic literature Margaret had brought from her girlhood house – a rich and mysterious widow. Phryne's eyes started to water. She wiped them with the tip of her gloved fingers and took a deep breath. She always got a bit wistful when she looked at the house like this.

Picture frames dotted the table on her right, moments that had been deemed important or beautiful or happy to commit to something tangible: Margaret and Prudence before they had gotten married, bright and hopeful young girls despite the stiff poses and the frilly dresses; the three Fishers sitting outside of Brentby, the family's country seat; Margaret and Henry's wedding day, a simple but lovely affair that only Aunt Prudence and Uncle Edward had witnessed due to the bride's parents' staunch opposition to the match; Phryne on her 18th birthday, a vision in a Poiret dress which had scandalised the older guests in spite of its streamlined design and because it was black and worn without a 'proper' corset; her parent's silver anniversary; the Stanleys in a visit they had paid to England; the day Phryne had been presented in court. Snippets of the Past within arm's reach.

Phryne picked up a photograph taken when she was twelve and Janey ten years old. She remembered that day well, a treat to celebrate Janey's birthday. They had been so excited – they had never had their picture taken before (while made more accessible over the latter years, theirs wasn't exactly a household with money to spare) and the process seemed wondrous to their curious minds. Taking the few pictures that existed at their house, serious grandparents they had never met and parents they couldn't imagine ever had been young, they trained their poses insistently, just to be disappointed by Mr. Appleton's direct and uninspired instructions regarding how they should position themselves - just standing side by side in front of a white wall. It seemed to lack the dignity they were expecting, despite being clad in their Sunday best dresses with their hair neatly pulled back and tied with ribbons. Phryne slid her thumb over the image. It was the only picture they had of Janey.

«I really wish I had been there», Margaret said, «finally being able to give her the proper funeral we had been wanted for so many years», she sighed. «But the doctor saw it best not to, fearing the bronchitis could turn into pneumonia with the cold sea air». It was her turn to dab at her eyes. She knew it had been beyond her, but Margaret felt tremendously guilty for not having been able to lay her daughter to rest. Guilt and that she had failed Janey once again – first by not having been able to protect her from that monster and then by not being by her side in the end. She had had a Memorial Service held for Janey that day and another one when she was recovered and could attend it but it had felt like such a vacant gesture, sometimes Margaret had even regretted it.

«I know… and if there's any way for her to, Janey does as well», Phryne said, putting the frame back in its place and sitting by her mother, covering her hand with one of hers. «I took some roses from those you planted when you were fifteen to her grave».

«Thank you», Margaret paused. «I can hardly believe those plants can still bear flowers».

«Aunt Prudence wouldn't have it otherwise. She tends to them herself», Phryne said with a smile.

«How is she? I have been getting her telegrams and her letters, but I know her. I'm not sure she's telling me the whole story. Poor Prudence. Arthur was a darling man». Margaret wrote to her sister often, trying to comfort her with the feelings she had gathered from the awful experience they now shared of having lost a child.

«She's doing better. It's all still very raw but little by little she has been able to go back to her life. There was that incident with the house being turned into a clinic, but everything is settled now. Aunt Prudence was lost, but she's back on her feel now. You know she can't be quiet for long».

«Oh, yes. My sister had always seemed powered by some inner train – this sounded so strange, but I guess you get what I mean. Thank you for being there for her. I'm sure Guy loves his mother but he's so scatter-brained, I don't know if he would have been able to handle things like you have. Don't tell her I revealed this, but Prudence is really glad to have you in Australia.»

«Sometimes we can't see eye to eye but we care about each other».

«Indeed. I would have loved to see her face when you told her you'd become a private detective though», Margaret chuckled.

«Shock at first, but my skillset has been very useful a couple of times and I think all is forgiven now», Phryne said with a smile.

«Aren't you ever afraid?», Margaret's tone was much more serious now.

«There's no time for that. Only afterwards. I like what I do. It's not something I sought, but I like to see justice served and to help people. And I'm careful, don't worry», Phryne said, decoding the look in her mother's eyes before she could even say a word.

Hewitt came in with tea. He put the tray on the side console and after laying a pristine cloth on the centre table, proceeded to place the tea set, fine porcelain, and napkins in front of them. In his early-thirties, with dark hair and hazel eyes, Phryne recognised him, but had known him by a different name.

«I hope you still like Black Tea», Margaret said. Her tone had become agreeable and light but she feared she might do something wrong that would drive Phryne away. From what she had gathered, her daughter's move to Australia couldn't be hung on one cause only, yet she didn't want to feel they had drifted so much apart she wouldn't no longer be aware of Phryne's such elementary like and dislike anymore.

«I do, I do… And after such a long day it will taste even more divine», Phryne said with no insincerity on her part. Her mother was doing her best to put on a calm and at ease front but Phryne had been observing people for a long time to be able to read beyond that, a skill fine-tuned by her detective work.

Margaret picked up the delicate porcelain pot. «Would you prefer it strong or weak?»

«Strong, please. And with some milk and two sugars».

She prepared a cup for her daughter according to Phryne's indications and handed it to her and then got one for herself with one sugar instead of two. Meanwhile, Hewitt had returned with a curate displaying finger sandwiches, scones, and chocolate and orange tea biscuits on each dish and a jam and cream silver server embossed with the Fisher coat of arms. Normally, the complete silver tea set only came in full parade when there was certain company, but Phryne wondered if her mother – she doubted her father would want to get included in such procedures – had had to sell them to try to save bigger things like the houses.

«Where's Nicholls?», Phryne asked after a sip of her tea, inquiring about the thin tall man who had always been the Fishers' butler, «Everything is alright with him, I hope».

Margaret put her cup on the saucer, took a deep breath and laid them on the table.

«He's in Brentby», there was no way to escape the matter any further, Phryne would know eventually, « the house has been let to an American family for the shooting season and most of the staff is there as I was able to convince the Stricklands to pay their wages. It's curious how the Americans wanted to be independent from Britain so vehemently but some are willing to come here and pay to play at all they despised», she smiled weakly to try to lighten the situation.

Yet the truth was that every step of the way had pained Margaret immensely: the discreet enquiries for someone interested, the paperwork, the countless meetings with the solicitor, packing the things she didn't want to leave behind but trying to not make it seem she had moved everything to the locked part of the attic to avoid having the tenants think she might not trust them, trying to navigate the situation with the staff in a way that didn't reveal the depths of the troublesome money issues which had led her to resort to such measures, wrapping her mind around the fact that soon there would be strangers in her home and sleeping in her bed. Margaret had changed houses plenty of times in her life but, having left Australia so long ago and no matter how much she enjoyed the time spent in London, Brentby felt like her true home. The big windows facing the garden and letting all that bright, beautiful light in, the comfortable and spacious rooms with their curious trinkets and pieces of art, the curtains, fabrics, cushions, and furniture she had chosen to complement the heritage she had found there, the canopy bed which was the most soft and heavenly she had ever slept in. The struggles, tragedies, and heart-break that had happened in her life brought a layer of guilt when she felt it, but Margaret longed to be back every day. How strange it was not to being able to return to one's home when one simply wanted to.

«So your father and I have moved here for a time. We brought Hewitt – you may remember him from when he was a footman, he got promoted to under-butler some months after you… went to Australia – a cook, and a maid. It will do». Margaret tried to imbue some courage in the tired smile she addressed to Phryne and picked up her tea again.

Phryne looked at her mother closely now. Normally, she cut an effortless stately figure but Miss Fisher could discern how much of a performance her mother was putting on due to the way she held her shoulders and her head and how she controlled the necessary movements to use the teacup. There were more wrinkles around her features than those two years alone could carve and while she had tried to cover them with some make-up as best as she could without looking gauche and inappropriate, there were dark circles under her mother's eyes. For someone wearing a copper silk velvet dress and sitting on a deep green sofa, Margaret seemed to blend with the background instead of standing out, as those colours were bound to do.

«Is there… some way I can help?», Phryne said at last. Part of her didn't want to get embroiled in another mess of her father's making, but she couldn't sit idly considering what her mother had been enduring.

«Oh, no, dear Phryne», Margaret patted her daughter's hand, «That's a very kind offer but everything is settled for the time being. Mr Brooke and Mr Richardson have been very helpful and we have already seen some results of our effort and Aunt Prudence's loan is helping to bridge the most urgent gaps. I want to believe the worst is behind us so far and that I'll be able to pay her back very soon. »

«Aunt Prudence asked me to tell you very clearly that there is no expiration date for the repayment», Phryne said sympathetically, but a wave of rage had exploded in her chest. In the month and half that her father had needed to get to Melbourne escaping his actions and tying even more money he barely had to the McKenzie Cavalcade of Mysteries, her mother had not only been left behind but she also had to attempt to straighten up all the messes her husband had made and to repair their tattered finances.

«Where is Father?»

Phryne had been hungry and looking forward to remedy that with the delicacies on the tray but she was no longer able to summon any appetite.

«Asleep. Leave him be, Phryne», Margaret said. «It's probably best this way. I'll talk to him after dinner».

«He can't go on behaving like this». Phryne hadn't seen Henry since he had rushed through the front door. She could picture him probably nursing some rediscovered bottle of his 'nerve tonic' to make up for the ones she hadn't let him drink during the trip, going as far as throwing them overboard in spite of his 'pleas'. «It's enough. While annoying, his mistakes had been mostly foolish and embarrassing but this is gambling with your lives», her voice had risen almost without her noticing it.

«Don't be so hard on him. I have been giving him several pieces of my mind already. I'll keep an even closer eye on him from now onwards, don't worry». Margaret was trying to be reassuring and while she wouldn't publically agree with Phryne that vehemently, fearing it would only deepen the rift that had always existed between daughter and father, she did concede that Phryne was right to a point.

«I know you love him, Mother», Phryne pre-emptively offered the words she knew Margaret would say, «but that can't mean you give him _carte blanche_ for everything. Since you met him, your life has been riddled with recklessness and financial upheaval. It may sound callous, but I don't know how our family would have managed if this barony and the money that came with it hadn't fallen out of a string of single or sickly children and the Boer War into Father's lap». Miss Fisher took a deep breath to pace herself.

Margaret didn't say anything, remaining still, the teacup and the saucer in her hand.

Phryne put hers on the table and touched her mother's wrist.

«I am not blaming you. I want to make that perfectly clear. You have always done your best for this family, tried to keep the pieces together... I just wish Father would be responsible for his actions, but, as much as it pains me, I'm afraid it may be too late. Besides, isn't there a way you can be in charge of money and all the assets? You clearly mange them much better».

Margaret's eyes brimmed with tears. She hadn't let herself cry over this ever since Henry had turned to her in bed eight months ago and said "Darling, I'm afraid there are some money issues", choosing to keep her head down and focus on what she could do not to revert the situation (that was basically impossible) but to amend it the best she could. After numerous meetings with Mr Brooke, the trusted solicitor, pouring over property and land deeds, asset inventories and documents enough to cover the long dining table at Brentby, they had come to a list of measures they could undertake, property that could be either let or sold, stocks, machinery, jewellery, pieces of art the Fishers could part with without denting the family's heritage and heirlooms more than what was strictly necessary. Henry hadn't exactly been helpful but he hadn't been much of a hindrance either, thankfully, protesting about the sale of some things more out of pride than actual fondness or importance but signing everything he was asked to. Apart from his escape to Australia, obviously. That Margaret hadn't been able to forgive yet and she wasn't sure she would in the foreseeable future, despite her love for him. Henry had always been flighty but he had been by her side when it truly mattered, like when Janey had disappeared, Margaret had had to deal with the death of her estranged parents or when they had been mad with worry as Phryne had gone to war and were unable to locate her. Otherwise, his charm and the love that linked them would probably not have been enough to keep them together for so long; this had been the most terrible blow to her trust. At first, while they didn't talk about it more than necessary, Margaret had been able to draw some comfort from having Henry nearby, but when he had absconded to Australia she had felt disposable, lost, adrift, and angry.

Out of shame, she hadn't been able to talk about the full extent of what was bothering her with anyone. Her friends had tried to cheer her up and be as supportive as best as they could in light of that they did know, but something was lacking and while he was informed of the whole scheme and had been their solicitor for ages, Margaret wasn't exactly going to confide her most inner thoughts to Thomas Brooke.

Margaret had received the news of Henry's return with a mixture of longing and bitterness. She loved him but that anger hadn't subsided yet. She had been obviously glad to see him again, hold him, and hear his voice but she also had had to make a great effort to welcome him without snapping until they were alone.

Henry had seemed happy to meet her again, embracing and kissing her tenderly, his 'better half', as he called her sometimes, yet apart from a gentle twinge of regret, he didn't seem particularly repentant or fully aware of what had happened while he had been gone and that had hurt her even more. Fifty years with him had shown her Henry's incredible power of compartmentalisation but he couldn't be that oblivious, could he? She wanted to believe that his reticence to look directly at their daughter meant that he was ashamed of the terms of his return at least and not simply because he was "so tired, I think I'll fall face first in bed without even knowing how", that the bath she had had drawn for him could provide him with some time to think things over.

Lady Fisher took a deep breath that was meant to help her gather her bearings but she couldn't avoid the tears that kept rolling down her face.

«I am sorry», Margaret said, dabbing at her eyes with the corner of the napkin. It was hardly polite and even less lady-like but her fingertips were no longer enough.

Phryne shook her head. _Not at all._ She patted her mother's shoulder tenderly.

«Thank you for being here and for bringing your father back home. I truly appreciate it and it can't have been easy for you». Margaret wanted to add that Phryne didn't have to, even if only out of politeness, but both knew that it had been the only way. Otherwise, Henry would have probably jumped ship in the first port where it had docked and they would still be searching the world for him.

«I am glad to have been able to help _you_ », Phryne said, discovering that it was so indeed, in spite of soulfully missing Melbourne and everyone and everything she had left behind.

* * *

A/n: This is my contribution to April's Challenge of MFMM Year of Quotes.

Thank you for reading the first chapter of this fic. I hope you enjoyed it. I have to confess I don't know how many more there will be but I think it isn't going to be novel-length. Given that April is basically over, you have the first two chapters and then I'll continue writing it and posting it in May (two simultaneous fics, yay/not yay). For some reason, this fic hasn't been very easy to write and has even thrown me into a particular pit of frustration I don't think I had been in since 'Angry, Half in Love, and Tremendously Sorry', in spite of all the work put into the other fics that came between them.

I think I had mentioned previously that while I know that book!Phryne is 20 years-old or something, I cannot picture her so in the current universe I'm familiar with because in my head Phryne looks like Essie Davis (which doesn't mean that I can't picture a young Phryne but it takes place earlier than 1929). In light of this, I adjusted the timeline and, as presented, these Fishers inherit the title and the money not in the aftermath of the Great War but of the Boer War. Technically, it should be called The Second Boer War, since there was a first, but given that it is much less known, the later takes 'precedence' and has come to be known simply as that. It took place from 11 October 1899 to 31 May 1902 and «was fought between the British Empire and two Boer States, the South African Republic (Republic of Transvaal) and the Orange Free State over the Empire's influence in South Africa». (Let's give it up to wikipedia for this brief synopsis).

Chester Square is one of the three garden squares built by the Grosvenor family when they developed the main part of Belgravia in the 19th century. The Grosvenors still owned (and own many of) the houses and let them under long-term leases. It is and was an upscale area and the garden isn't open to the public. You have to live there to get a key and there's a strict set of rules one must obey.

I know there's a mention of the 'Norfolk House' in the show, but I'm afraid I tinkered with things a bit and that's why I ended up giving the Fisher's both the London house in Chester Square and Brentby (name of the house) as their country seat.

You may have gotten more Margaret than what you were expecting, but so did I. As I wrote, I just found myself slipping into her perspective and what she might have felt among all that turmoil. (Also: Henry is still the worst).

I must also make a note about the title. I don't think I had ever heard that word until I read it a couple of days ago in one of Zelda's letters that feature in «Dear Scott, Dearest Zelda - The Love Letters of F. Scott & Zelda Fitzgerald», edited by Jackson R. Bryer & Cathy W. Barks (which I fully recommend btw, particularly as, so far, it has much more letters by Zelda than by Scott and it's a very interesting insight into her personality and life as well as her writing, and her perspective of their relationship).I had been struggling with a title basically since the beginning but when I read that word it was almost like the proverbial lightning thing.

P.s: In case you're re-reading the story, I did edit the type of tea after a pertinent note I received in a review.

Thank you again for reading this and the following chapter. Your feedback is appreciated as always.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

In the end, Phryne had decided against letting her father ruin tea and had eaten eagerly. Those scones might not have been made by Mrs Harlan's hand, but Mrs Swanson had been a dutiful apprentice and they tasted very close to how Phryne remembered them. She was slightly nauseous, in fact, given the nearly obscene amount of them she had indulged in but she couldn't say she minded it and there was a particular joy in the way she climbed the stairs to the upper floors. She didn't even feel like spoiling it by knocking on her parents' room door to confront her father and continued upwards to hers.

After more than a decade of sharing close quarters with her family, just the thought of an entire floor for her had been enough to boggle her mind when the Fishers had come to London and she had been shown to her new room. By virtue of having been the long gone dowager Baroness', it had a massive Gothic Victorian carved bed with so many finial "spikes" pending from the canopy it reminded Phryne of a carnivore plant ready to devour her as soon as she laid on it and a red damask wallpaper that could have perfectly been modelled after the room that had haunted Jane Eyre's childhood. Phryne hadn't particularly liked either, actually deeming them 'horrid', but those particularities hadn't been enough to dull the fact that that room was hers and hers alone (she had obviously wished Janey could be there and have hers too).

Soon, the undesired furniture had been moved to storage and given way to a pale green Art Nouveau set with elegant and delicate irises carved motifs much more in line with her preferences and the offending wallpaper had been replaced by a Morris brighter floral pattern with cheerful light blue, pink, and yellow flowers blooming from green stems. Back then, Phryne had congratulated herself on her sophistication and now she must admit that her girlhood room had aged well. After all, her current bed in Australia was also of a lighter Art Nouveau style.

On the bed, there was a pair of silk robin blue pyjamas with long sleeves and a velvet kimono, surely bought by Margaret anticipating that Phryne might not be ready for the colder nights she would meet in England. The affection Phryne felt for her mother tugged at her again. She might not consider herself Jane's mother per se and their approaches to parenting might differ, but the good things she did practice, Phryne recognised she had learnt from her.

Phryne was looking forward to getting updated about Jack, Mac, Dot, Aunt Prudence and the rest of friends in Australia through the pile of letters and telegrams presented on the desk by the window, but she would do that before sleep, when she was finally settled.

She sat down on the bed and looked around. How many letters had she written at that desk, how many books had she read sitting on the armchair by the window, how many times had she laughed and cried into those pillows, how many dreams had she dreamt in that bed, how many confidences had she exchanged with friends in that space. And yet, between boarding and finishing school, the sojourns at Brentby, the war, Paris, and the flat she had rented after her return to London and now Australia, she hadn't actually slept that many nights in this room. It had been hers in the sense that she had inhabited it for periods of time, but when she was away, it wasn't the image that came to her when she thought of «my room». Truth be told, she had never had a very definite picture to attach to that notion – it usually depended on where she was and where she was supposed to sleep that night. Even when she was in the war, 'home' never conjured Chester Square or the golden stone of Brentby in particular, just some place away from the bleeding fields of the Front. It could seem quite exciting sometimes, but, while not often, it also made her feel dislocated and adrift, like she didn't belong anywhere yet she also didn't belong everywhere.

The soles of her boots tapped on the well-polished wooden floor. No one would guess that there was only one maid responsible for cleaning the house now but that was probably the core order she had been given.

Phryne went into the dressing room. How marvellous and sophisticated just the thought of one had seemed and she must admit she missed it a little now. Maybe someday she would overcome her annoyance and distaste for all the fuss attached to building works and have one made in 221B. It was covered by the same wallpaper than the room and had a large wardrobe, a chest of drawers, a full-body mirror, and a dressing table from the same set as the rest of the furniture. There was also a Victorian chaise longue with its original wood frame and wheels she had coveted from one of the guest rooms, specially upholstered in rosewood pink velvet at her request.

There was a nearly empty bottle of a perfume she didn't wear anymore on the dressing table alongside a beautiful set of silver brushes and a hand-mirror she had always deemed too beautiful to actually use. She touched each item, trying to remember when it had been the last time she had done so.

Phryne's tour through the many drawers resulted in a couple forgotten or discarded things. The wardrobe was practically empty too. Most of the clothes, shoes, and other accessories had either been retired for good, stored, lost, given away, or shipped to Australia, but there were two boxes with which Phryne hadn't known what to do so she had left them there. One of them contained her Court Presentation dress, a silk garment of simple but elegant design, a reminder of a night which had been interesting yet the actual courtesy to the King the most underwhelming part of it all though. The other held the infamous 18th birthday dress which also represented her first couture gown, a pause in Margaret's discomfort about spending money on clothes after so many years of mandatory economy, and Phryne's first visit to Paris – also the occasion where she had been taken so much by the city, she had decided that she would live there someday.

But those were objects intertwined with particular memories. Did it mean that by keeping them there Chester Square was her home?

Phryne took a deep breath. She didn't know why she was fussing over this matter so much. Perhaps it had to do with the context of her return to London. When she had gone to Australia, she hadn't vowed to never return again, she actually liked the place, but she had always thought that it would happen when she wanted to, not in an unwished moment and tied to one of the people had had always most driven her to go way.

Besides, there was Jack. Their kiss on the runway had been hanging over them for quite a while and Phryne believed it would have happened eventually, particularly after he had admitted his 'romantic overture'. She wasn't a woman of many regrets but now, with a clearer head, she did wish it hadn't taken place on the brink of her departure. There was some romance in parting ways at such a moment, but it also felt like too big of a step to leave things unresolved like that. But maybe having this time would be good to think everything over. Phryne was deeply scared of hurting Jack somehow and someday, particularly considering how he had opened his heart to her and her own regard towards relationships in the latter years – after all, it had been her own blind trust in love and in René and the awful turn it had taken that had led her to that stance. Phryne couldn't lose Jack both as a friend and as romantic partner. They had had their grievances about this and they hadn't even acted on their feelings yet. It wouldn't get any easier from now.

There was no doubt in her that she loved him. It had been quite surprising to find so. There had been the emotional and physical connection with Lin, perhaps the closest thing to love she had experience since her Paris days, but while it was complex in its own right, this bond with Jack was something else. Phryne couldn't exactly pinpoint the moment it had happened, most certainly there wasn't a particular instant that marked that transition, it had been the gradual development of their flirting, their matching intelligence, their professional collaboration, their chemistry, their kiss at Café Repliqué, and the rift caused by the mistake that led to him thinking she had died – a photography being dipped in the chemicals needed to reveal what it had captured.

She had chosen to be with him. She had chosen to be with him and he had taken her wholeheartedly. The realisation made her smile.

* * *

A/n: Thank you for reading this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it. As mentioned, I'll be updating this fic through the next month but I'm afraid I can't promise actual dates because this will be a post-as-you-write thing.

Thank you for your feedback and may I find you here soon.


	3. Chapter 3

«Good morning, my dear».

After a divine bath and in light of the long trip she had taken during the previous month, Phryne had felt too lazy to come downstairs for dinner, so this was the first time she was seeing her father since last afternoon.

«Did you sleep well?», he asked, from the head of the table.

«I did. You seem to have too», Phryne said, walking towards the sideboard where the breakfast buffet was laid out.

Henry was gleefully spreading jam on a toast as if he didn't have a care in the world.

«But of course, dear. I'm at home at last and by my beloved's side», he had put the toast down and looked soulfully at his wife. The Henry Fisher Apology Tour had started.

Margaret didn't reject him, but Phryne noticed a certain steeliness in the way she returned her husband's gaze.

«I see», Phryne said, putting a dish with some blackberries and grapes on the table and sitting down at the vacant place.

«It's so wonderful to be back. "The house of every one is to him as his castle and fortress, as well for his defense against injury and violence as for his repose", after all», Henry continued.

 _If that's so, then why did you run away_ , nearly jumped out of Phryne's mouth but she forced herself to bite her tongue. Her father was a cultured man in his own way, yet Phryne would wager he had learnt that particular quote by heart, ready to deploy it as soon as he saw fit, and the gesture grated on her.

Margaret took a toast from the rack that Hewitt had brought to the table, poised as if she hadn't heard a word.

«I'm going out to get re-acquainted with London after breakfast and I was wondering if maybe you would want to come with me?», Phryne asked, looking straight at her mother. It might not be the most polite behaviour, but Henry contriteness wasn't doing him any favours.

Her father seemed eager to answer, but Margaret anticipated him:

«Thank you, Phryne, but I'm afraid we can't. Mr Brooke is coming to luncheon and we still have some things to go over before he's here».

Margaret wasn't particularly keen on playing the nagging wife, but Henry couldn't leave that house until they had set their affairs straight. After the genuine embrace upon their reunion, the strain between them had been unavoidable. At first, the expected fatigue had kept them from talking and then at dinner Henry had eaten ravenously, praising that no food in the world could compare to those vegetables and lamb on his plate until exhaustion. She had simply replied «Thank you, I'll let Mrs Swanson know», but his suggestion of going to the club «to meet the old chaps again», he was still in Australia time and not sleepy at all had made her set her foot down:

«We are in this… muddle because of you. You got to escape once, Henry, I will not stand by and try to sort it out by myself again.»

And so Henry had stayed in and Margaret had slept very poorly, something she was trying to counterbalance with the strong tea in her cup.

«Go and have fun, darling», Margaret said before taking a sip of it. «And don't worry», she continued, even before Phryne could say anything else, but her face seemed to have rendered those words useless.

«Yes, at another time, dear», Henry said, as charmingly as he could. He wasn't used to having to abide by responsibility, but he didn't want to lose Margaret too. His attitude may seem do indicate otherwise but he did love her.

The rest of the meal threaten to drag under the kind of tension Phryne had vied to avoid so it wasn't long before she was out the door, eating a slice of cake as she walked.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading this (small and mostly place-setting) chapter. I have been both busy and tired, so writing hasn't happened much but I hope there's still some interest in this story.

The quote parroted by Henry is by Sir Edward Coke, at least as far as the internet has told me.

Hopefully, the rest won't be so painful to write, but what do I know. I have the plot points clearly on my mind, but getting from point A to B to C hasn't been easy.

Thank you for the feedback received so far. Let it be known that it's always appreciated


	4. Chapter 4

At first, Phryne had thought about taking the underground but the thought of feeling that she was always in someone's way wasn't something she missed very much and Selfridges wasn't that far anyway.

While she had her own money, it had felt in poor taste to mention it considering the perilous financial conditions of her parents but Phryne was impatient to get out of her flying outfit.(Due to the lack of a warmer coat, wearing her pyjamas as if it were a glamourous suit wasn't exactly practical). She guessed she could have borrowed something from her mother for that day at least yet she longed for something new and more 'her'. Waking up in London had been strange enough, even after a month of waking up other places other than Australia, and she didn't have the time to wait for custom pieces so ready-to-wear would be perfectly suitable.

Phryne wasn't exactly a woman of clichés, but there seemed to be no other way to describe the weather but 'crisp', she thought, as she approached Grosvenor Place and the Buckingham Palace Gardens. Sun streaked from behind the clouds and the air felt more invigorating than cold somehow. She arranged the scarf around her neck and continued walking as she took in the noisy traffic, the hurried pedestrians, and the green treetops beyond the wall on her right. There was a certain comfort in covering that familiar ground, greeted by the memory of having done the same with Diana, Amalia, Maud and Louisa, of the nerves about being presented to the King and Queen at Court without falling and making a fool of oneself as ridiculous as the whole affair might seem, of how they breezed through the garden parties thrown there, excited about life, their new dresses, sharing those hours with each other, flirting with whom they felt like (and who might not be exactly who their families were envisioning) and scandalising others by being favourited by princes and other titled or titled-to-be who had been deemed someone else's ideal match.

She smiled at herself. Miss Fisher didn't dwell much on the past, but it was slightly more difficult not to when it had been that pleasant and apparently made even more so by the war that marred it afterwards and the fact that Amalia had died of the Spanish Flu ten years ago.

Nevertheless the busyness and the central role of those streets in the city covering it, London seemed duller than when she had last been here, the looming end of the post-war prosperity had come to form meanwhile, boosted by a difficult context and the Great Strike of 1926. It was hitting the north of England and Wales harder but the thought of the many people afflicted made her heart twist and yet she couldn't help but be carried by the good memories made over the years at the same times. The contradiction made her feel ashamed although she had lived enough to uphold the importance of the happy moments one did have among the darkness of some daily lives. That's one of the hardest things of being human, Phryne thought, having to deal with all those contrasts without being crushed under it all and/or going mad.

Phryne walked into Hyde Park from under Burton's Ionic Screen and her mind flashed to picnics and walks and the elaborate scavenger hunts which had taken place around those places on foot, by motorcar and public transportation as she made her way through it.

In that moment, Phryne felt she had lived a lot. Many chapters, spread across many countries, and populated by many people. She guessed that being alone at last and in that simultaneously familiar and strange environment had unleashed all those reflections, the long trip to London having had been occupied by keeping both the plane and her father up in the air. Henry might have been a bit regretful when his return to England had become a _fait accomplit_ but as the month went on, he had retreated into his irresponsible and sleazy ways, trying to snake his way out of Phryne's supervision. They had quarreled often and there had been days when they had barely talked; if they had done so beyond the strictly necessary words, things would have soured even more. If not for the promise Phryne had made to Aunt Prudence, her mother, and, even in a way, to herself as well as her own persistence, she would have given up. It was all coming too close to her childhood patterns for her to be comfortable with it. 'Relief' could hardly cover the feeling which had taken over her when she had landed the plane in English soil at last. She would still have to endure the car ride until Chester Square, but she could do that.

People walked by and looked puzzlingly at her, remarking on her particular outfit. Usually, Phryne wouldn't care about it but she preferred to be the centre of attention when she chose to and this circumstance made her feel uneasy – she felt very vulnerable in that moment.

Soon she was in the known streets of Mayfair, strolling alongside the imposing red brick buildings. The swirl of traffic in the intersection of Oxford, Orchard, and North Audley Streets felt like an odd balm and she felt more like herself when she walked into Selfridges. Phryne absolutely loved to have adventures in remote places, but she also liked to pamper herself.

Light chatter filled the store and saleswomen moved briskly behind the counters. Phryne browsed around looking for new red lipstick, rouge, and perfume, given that those she had brought from Australia had barely been enough for the trip.

Pleased with her purchases, Phryne caught a lift and asked the operator to take her to ladies' fashion. The girl politely said 'of course' and Miss Fisher was soon amidst the most fashionable garments of the season.

She planned on shipping clothes ahead if there was any need, but she still tried more outfits than those she meant to buy out of sheer fun. And oh, what fun it had been. She hadn't shopped by herself in a while but it didn't hinder her enjoyment. In the end, Phryne chose a black, white and red tweed skirt-suit with a long coat trimmed with a fur collar and a white knitted blouse. She wore it right away with a felt black hat with a matching silk ribbon and two short feathers in the back and black leather shoes and handbag, having her shopping and her flying clothes to be delivered at Chester Square so she could carry on with her day unencumbered. Perhaps a bit too dark, but it was autumn in London, it was bound to be a bit darker than what she had been wearing so far.

After an invigorating cup of tea and slice of cake at the roof terrace as well as a bit of rest to recover from the walk there, Phryne decided to make her way back to Oxford Street through the stairs.

When she reached the men's department, she meant to keep walking, but a rack of ties caught her attention. At first, she walked surely to it. In different colours and patterns, _those were beautiful ties_ , she thought as she looked at them and there was a dark green one with burnt orange squares she could see appealing to Jack a great deal. She paused. Would it be too forward of her to get him a gift? It wasn't even a question of price because it wasn't expensive – she was particularly aware of how their financial standings could bring some pressure at some point even if it had never been an issue so far (but they had never had to reckon with it yet). It relied on the act itself. Her previous doubts crept up again and she felt at sea with all the newness of the situation. But she had been the one to come away. Phryne didn't feel the need to compensate for it, but it did seem to tip the scales a bit.

She bought the tie and had it gift wrapped. Phryne would still have some time until she came by the post office if she wanted to ship it.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading this new chapter.

While I don't call it like that, I took the liberty of including Phryne among the 'Bright Young Things', as the tabloids called the famous group of young aristocrats and socialites in 1920s London. They were quite out there, throwing fancy dress parties, intricate nighttime scavenger hunts around London, and taking full advantage of the decade's mindset. Cecil Beaton, the Mitford sisters, Noel Coward, Freda Dudley Ward, and Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon were some of its members.

Despite the many times I mention it, I'm not exactly trying to advertise Selfridges. I included in the story because it was quite something in the landscape of London's shopping not only due to the imposing building (which design was only completely finished in 1928) but also in terms of marketing and sales practices. Example: for long, make-up was considered quite scandalous so it was thrown in the back of shops, respectable women weren't supposed to wear it after all. Harry Gordon Selfridge scrapped that and put it front and center right on the ground floor, the first thing customers would see, setting a template that was followed by department stores back then and which is still adopted today. Publicity events like the display of the first plane to cross the Channel or the development of elaborate and eye-catching windows were also other examples of this new approach to shopping. Willing to attract the young clientele, Selfridges strived to have the latest trends available and to make shopping there an experience (something that had been the foundation of its marketing strategy since the beginning). The terrace did exist and held a «a mini golf course and an all-girl gun club» (thank yo, wikipedia) and was also the set for fashion shows. The ornate lifts were quite something to behold and became so iconic that there's even one on display at the Museum of London (after they were taken out during refurbishments in the 70s). The fact that they had female operators was also newsworthy at the time since it was basically unheard of.

For Phryne, I borrowed a Lucile Paray outfit from a 1929 L'Officiel de La Mode article and made some tweaks to it. (Thank you, internet for digitalised archives)

I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I'm afraid I still have some things more to develop though.

Feedback is appreciated as always.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Phryne shielded her eyes with her hand when she resurfaced at street level from the Russell Square underground station. The morning clouds had vanished meanwhile and now sunshine poured over the street.

Given that she was carrying two small volumes, Miss Fisher carefully fetched her sunglasses from her handbag, put them on, and stepped onto the pavement.

She had always been partial to Bloomsbury, finding it airy and spacious, with all the squares and the trees, a feeling conveyed by how the name itself rolled on the tongue. It sounded like a breeze escaping through the leaves, she thought, taking it in once again as she walked under the yellowed branches of Russell Square.

With money not being an issue and a good name to her (yet slightly burdened by her singleness to some eyes), London had completely been at her disposal when she had decided to find a flat for herself upon her return from Paris. Phryne quickly chose that area, spurred not only by its actual features but also by the multifaceted arts scene, which reminded her of Paris' in a way, even if, truth be told, they weren't that similar.

While she had been to war and lived in foreign countries, Phryne had never lived alone in circumstances that could be deemed ordinary and she was looking forward to it when she moved to that flat in a Georgian building in Bedford Place.

Well, not completely alone given that a maid came daily to cook and take care of house chores, part of the arrangement made with her landlord, her actual employer. Peter Harrington was a young man who had come to a house divided in two apartments for the children of the family but with his unwed brother buried somewhere in Belgium and no will to sell, he had sought for a tenant among the friends of his friends.

Phryne looked at the building from across the road. She wondered if Peter still lived there and concluded he probably did. Yet while she would like to meet him again, in this moment she preferred to thread undisturbed over her plentiful memories of having lived there, recalling the layout of the large rooms with tilled fireplaces that stood beyond those sash windows, furnished with Harrington heirlooms she hadn't minded much because while she wanted her own space, she didn't want to be burdened by movables and fittings and such circumstances were perfect for her. The Harringtons being people of good taste had helped, obviously. She had attempted to convince Peter that it made no sense for him to take the downstairs flat, but he hadn't budged. His had always supposed to be that one and taking over what was supposed to be John's made him feel much more discomfited at home than what anyone could want.

Her eyes started to prickle but she smiled. It was to be expected, Phryne acknowledged, even if her trip to Bloomsbury hadn't been undertaken as some step in a personal pilgrimage. Once she had been at street level, she had felt she couldn't simply make her way towards her real destination without dropping by Bedford Place if only for a couple of minutes - it was so close (which had been one of the definitive advantages of that house back then). Overlooking it felt wrong somehow.

She tried to make out if someone had taken the flat, but with the sun hitting the windowpanes it was difficult to ascertain what might be going indoors. In the end, it didn't matter, did it?

* * *

A/n: Thank you for reading.

I'm afraid this story has been going for a little longer than what I had predicted but there are so many details that end up making an appearance in my head.

I'll post a new chapter right away.

I hope you enjoy it and are still interested in what is coming up. Feedback is appreciated as always.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Phryne could hear steps coming down the stairs, her anxiety increasing proportionally to each beat. _This is ridiculous_ , she chastised herself but looked around nevertheless, hoping that the pleasant atmosphere of Doughty Street would help her calm down.

The door ahead of her was opened at last, revealing a woman close to Phryne's age wearing a grey smock and an equally plain scarf on her head, the edges of a brown fringe and bob peeking from underneath.

«Surprise!», Phryne said, an enormous and heartfelt grin on her face.

Diana's blue eyes brightened with recognition and happiness.

«Phryne Alexandra Fisher, you minx», she said, mischievous, before enthusiastically hugging her friend.

Seeing and holding Diana shattered that odd anxiety immediately and Phryne was back to her normal senses at once. London seemed to be tampering with her in a very particular way, but she would attempt to parse that later. Now, she would relish in her friend's company unabashedly.

«Do come in. What are you doing here?», she continued, fondly putting an arm around Phryne's shoulders and leading her towards the stairs. It wasn't her friend's first visit, but it had been so unexpected, Diana was still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that Phryne was actually there, in her hallway. « I mean… you know what I mean.»

«It's a long story, but I thought I'd be able to tell you over a cup of tea and these», Phryne said, raising a box of chocolate truffles. «I hope I didn't interrupt anything», she added, meaning Diana's work clothes.

«If you had called three hours ago, you'd probably end up dying on that doorstep, but I was just cleaning up now», Diana said, as they kept going up the stairs.

«Even if you knew I'd bring truffles?»

«I don't dabble in the occult, I'm afraid, but since when did I say no to truffles?»,

Phryne laughed as Diana closed the door behind them and they both walked through the hall of her flat.

Divided into kitchen and parlour by a wooden arch, the front room was painted in dusky blue and the large windows were garnished by bold floral curtains.

The textiles and the colours made it feel tremendously cosy and lived in. The geometric spread over the sofa in front of the fireplace, the embroidered pillows on the two leather club chairs, the upholstered ottoman where the grey tabby Shakespeare was sleeping warmed up by a patch of sun, the shelves nearly overflowing with books, the Chinese rug which tied everything together.

It was nicely balanced by the dark wooden furniture and the black and white photographs adorning the walls, taken by Diana herself and developed in what had once been a tool shed on the roof terrace and which she had laboriously converted into a functional dark room in spite of its small size and odd placement.

Diana had always been fascinated by images and soon took to photography, starting with a Kodak 3A and moving onwards as technology and fancy lead her. She brought a camera with her nearly everywhere she went, capturing almost anything that caught her eye, so she changed the photographs on display rather often. At the moment, they featured photos of elaborate shoes and of a woman's football team, training and playing.

«That's the Preston Ladies», Diana informed, removing the scarf and the smock upon noticing Phryne's particular interest. «Well, officially because most people still call them the Dick, Kerr Ladies. That ridiculous FA ban may have taken its toll, but they keep on playing», she continued admiringly, smoothing her moss-green dress with her hands. «I'm working on a series about women's football in Britain, that's the first set».

«'Football is unsuitable for ladies'», Phryne quoted. She might not be as knowledgeable about the sport as Diana but news of the team's progress were discussed from now and then at the Adventuress' Club and they were held in great regard for that. «It seems that for some people ladies' health and constitutions are only suitable for marriage and child-bearing and rearing».

Diana scoffed in agreement from the kitchen. The kettle was already on the stove.

«They can play rings around some men's teams out there and that's what they can't take. It was all good, healthy, and wholesome but once it got too popular it was just a futureless novelty. Fulham wishes they had Lily Parr. The last seasons would surely have been way less pathetic», Diana said angrily while she set the table for tea. She got easily invested. Fostered by her father, excited about this increasingly popular new game, Diana had learnt to love football from an early age and she had followed the rise of women's football during and immediately after the war with great enthusiasm and praise. She had actually sent a flurry of letters to the Football Association contesting the ban over the years. «I'm sorry, I guess I got carried away. My Father and I argued about this just last week and I guess I still had it running inside. In fact, my mother has forbidden us from discussing this _particularity_ of football so our debate got curtailed sooner than what I wished it to.»

«Nonsense», Phryne replied, sitting down. «Knowing him, I'd wager Colonel Chapman is a firm supporter of the ban».

«Obviously», Diana said with a chuckle, lighting up a cigarette. «He can tolerate ladies watching the game as long as they aren't too boisterous or call attention to themselves, but playing? Heavens, no! I think he was actually shocked when he read about it in the paper and he was in the trenches».

Phryne laughed and opened the box of truffles, stretching it out for Diana. «And how has he taken the news that you're living with your fiancé? Proper congratulations on that, by the way».

«Thank you», Diana bowed her head, taking a truffle out of the box. «With relief, I guess? At least now there's a promise and a proper title to attach to Simon. It's still scandalous but it was even more before when we were just two immoral people». She laughed.

« Very thrilled nevertheless, certainly».

« How couldn't he? He loves that I work and earn my own money, that I go out whenever I want to do whatever I want and be with whoever I want. Besides, I had the audacity of leaving his house before getting married. He's very proud of his only daughter. I'm sure he has clippings of Vogue stored away in his desk», Diana offered sarcastically, expelling a puff of smoke. «But enough of my father. What are you doing here?»

Diana rose from the chair, picked up the kettle, and started to prepare the tea.

«I'm afraid we can't leave the theme of fathers behind completely», Phryne said with a theatrical shrug, «I'm in London because of mine after all».

«You brought him back ». Diana's mother, Irene, had been a girlhood friend of Margaret and when the Fishers had relocated to Europe they had been gleefully reunited in Britain. Neither mother nor daughter betrayed their respective friends' confidence but Miss Chapman knew enough to be aware of Henry's unforeseen trip to his homeland.

«I _had_ to bring him back. It's more accurate that way», Phryne said with a sigh, eating a truffle afterwards.

Silently, Diana put her cigarette down and poured Phryne's tea without needing to ask any questions to know how she took it.

«I'm sorry you had to go through that», she said, her voice full of sympathy. Diana might not see eye to eye with her father most of the times, but he would never do something like that and – even worse – expect her to pick up the pieces.

Phryne nodded and for a while she unburdened herself from most of the frustration and anger that she had been storing for that month. There had been a couple of moments where their trip had come close to being a bonding father-daughter adventure but most of the time it had an exhausting trip and not only due to its logistical characteristics.

«And now? Is there any plan?», Diana asked.

«I don't know», Phryne shrugged, «my parents are in a meeting with the barrister as we speak. We'll see what comes out of it but even if there's something akin to a solution to the formal issues, I don't think my father is willing to actually do something to change, you know, to grow. He practically swore he would try to make up for his mistakes and rise to occasion but I had to keep him in my line of sight every time we landed and even so he still managed to get involved with dodgy characters and once I had to actually pull him away from a craps table in the middle of the street», Phryne took a deep breath. «As much as we wished, we can't keep him locked up at home».

«If you need something, just ask, do you hear me?», Diana wanted to help Phryne but she couldn't think of much to say that would be of actual use.

Phryne smiled, thankful, and put a hand on top of one of Diana's.

«Thank you. This helped».

«Anytime», Diana smiled. «And even better if you can bring truffles».

Phryne chuckled and reached out for one. «They're good».

«Divine, right?», Diana said mid-bite, covering her mouth with the free hand. «Listen, it's a bit melancholic, but would you like to go to Simon's operetta or something? Take your mind off things.»

«I'd like that. Maybe it will be cathartic», Phryne let out a small laugh. «What is it?»

«Bitter Sweet by Noël Coward at His Majesty's. We could have dinner first and then go?»

«I'm not sure if I'll make it in time for all that though. I did buy an evening dress today but I had my purchases sent to Chester Square», Phryne said, counting roughly the time she would need to go and come back.

«I can lend you something, if you want. You've always been the best dressed of us, but I want to believe you'll find something in that large wardrobe of mine», Diana offered good-heartedly.

«I'm sure I can. You're not a shabby dresser either», Phryne said truthfully. While the girls of their friend group all enjoyed fashion, it was accurate to say that Miss Fisher had been the one who dared more.

«I'll telephone Simon and see if he can arrange two tickets for us», Diana said, getting up from the chair, meaning to walk towards the hallway.

«You haven't changed: you still invite first and hope it all goes well afterwards», Phryne said, laughing.

«You know me», she replied, picking up the telephone.

Due the commotion, Shakespeare had woken up from his nap and was looking at Phryne now, his attentive green eyes seizing this stranger.

«Look at you. You grew up quite a bit since your master brought you home when you were a tiny little thing born in an alley behind the theatre».

The cat stretched, jumped out of the ottoman and went to Diana, tracing eights around her ankles.

«You can wear anything you want», Diana said, pointing to her jewellery box and the drawer where she kept the costume pieces. «Well, except this one, it would be odd», she continued humorously, putting it on her left ring finger.

«Do show», Phryne asked with genuine curiosity. She might not be very inclined for marriage herself but she always appreciated beautiful jewellery.

Diana stretched out her hand. It had a round a blue zircon set in filigreed platinum shoulders. Simon had chosen well - the stone was a close match to Diana's eyes.

«It's a very elegant piece», Phryne complimented.

«And zircon is both our birthstones, which was a nice touch».

Phryne nodded.

«Just to think you didn't take to each other very much in the beginning and now you're set to marry». Miss Fisher laughed avidly. It wasn't that new of an occurrence, but it still amused her, particularly considering that was also how her first interactions with Jack had gone.

«What do you want? It's not my fault that he came across as a pompous actor the first time we met», Diana said, shrugging, and arranging the sparkly headband on her dark hair. «And how about you? There's any gentleman with whom you have been getting along with?».

Phryne was uncharacteristically silent for a moment.

«What? Did you think we would only be talking about me? Telegrams are very practical but also very limited. Is there indeed a gentleman with whom you have been getting along with? Is the Selfridges package currently on my kitchen table meant for him?», reflected on the mirror, Diana's eyes gleamed with mischievous curiosity.

While she believed Mac had an inkling about how she and Jack were beyond the flirting stage, Phryne had never openly talked about him in those terms and even less so ever since their passionate kiss at the airfield. Miss Fisher didn't exactly publicise her adventures, but the complexity and intimacy of their relationship seemed to make it somewhat difficult to talk about it, almost as if it were blasphemous?

«There's someone, I admit. But that's everything you're going to get from me», Phryne said, not yet sure if she was talking seriously, putting the second earring on.

«Alright. Apart from his name, where did you meet and who he is I wouldn't dream of wanting to know anything else», Diana said, taking a black velvet evening coat from the wardrobe to see if she liked to see it with the black dress with embroidered abstract floral motif around the hem she was wearing.

A smile dawned on Phryne's lips. She swallowed dryly and ran her hands over the blue velvet and orange chiffon dress Diana had lent her. They had ended up having toast and scrambled eggs at home before storming Diana's wardrobe to change into their evening clothes and it had been much more pleasant like this.

«His name his Jack, we met in Melbourne, and he's handsome, intelligent and witty», Phryne said succinctly.

Diana smirked and put the coat on.

«There's vague and then there's your answer».

«Excuse me, my dear friend, but I replied to your three questions. There was no particular instruction regarding the answers themselves. And now, would you be as kind as to lend me a coat I can wear?»

«That's what I get from trying to interview a detective. I should have known better», Diana handed her the matching blue velvet coat.

«Yes, you should, but I'm glad I can teach you, Miss Chapman».

«Thank you. It's very magnanimous of you, Miss Fisher».

Phryne and Diana laughed heartily. Those two years in which they hadn't seen each other felt like not a minute more than two hours.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading this chapter. I hope you enjoyed it even if I ended up throwing another OC at you.

Maybe because we know so little of Phryne's time in London, I seem to fill those blank spaces with probably more headcanons that what you bargained for. I hope I can convey them in a compelling way at least that makes reading the story more pleasant.

Historical notes time:

Even if you don't care about football, do read about the Dick, Kerr Ladies (later Preston Ladies F.C.). It's such an interesting story - women's football had already appeared before, but it rose during WWI as women started working in factories and most of the teams came out of that environment (something that had already happened and would continue to happen with men's teams). The Dick, Kerr Ladies were called so after the munitions factory at which they worked. They were extremely popular and even played abroad, including an American tour (they played 9 games against men's teams: 3 wins, 3 draws, 3 defeats).

At some point the Football Association (FA) decided to be garbage and enforce the ban Diana and Phryne discuss in the story for the reasons mentioned - among other of equal ridiculousness . It was only repealed in 1971 (yes, you read it correctly) and banned women's teams from «using fields and stadiums controlled by FA-affiliated clubs for 50 years» (thank you wikipedia). It curtailed women's football severely but some teams were able to carry on in spite of the difficulties, like the Dick,Kerr Ladies.

Lily Parr was basically the star of the team and showed sports abilities since she was very young. For instance, in her first season she was only 14 years old and scored 43 goals. She played until 1951 and «she was the only woman to be made an inaugural inductee into the English Football Hall of Fame at the National Museum of Football».

To read more about the team, check

I made Simon Wallace intrude in Noël Coward's operetta, but it was indeed called «Bitter Sweet» and, at the time, playing at His Majesty's Theatre (now Her Majesty's Theatre) and was very popular, running for over 600 performances.

Thank you for your time and attention. I hope you enjoyed this chapter too and may we meet around here soon. Feedback is appreciated as always.


	7. Chapter 7

Phryne and Diana rose to their feet and clapped enthusiastically when the curtain fell. And so did much of the audience, in fact.

The red velvet came up again, revealing the actors on the stage, ready to take their bows. The cast had all been excellent, but the two women intensified their cheer when it was Simon's turn to be singled out. Phryne had been quite impressed by the way he had conveyed Carl's integrity and deep feeling and by how well he had sung and would have been so even if he weren't a friend.

As Diana had warned and the title had stated, the operetta had its lighter moments but it also tapped into deep melancholy if not sadness. Phryne felt a bit floaty, actually. The circumstances weren't that similar, but the fact that in the play Sari was back in London after twenty years away hadn't been lost on her and 'If You Could Only Come Away with Me' and 'I'll See You Again' had hit closer than what she would have wanted from her West End entertainment in this particular context. Besides, it was an _operetta_. Jack would have hated it and that made it resonate even harder.

«Let's go backstage», said Diana, and they made their way around the burgundy chairs of the Grand Circle. Although slightly to the left, theirs had been surprisingly decent seats, considering the short notice with which they had been procured and how popular the show was, which didn't leave much room for last-minute plans.

Phryne followed her diligently through the labyrinthine hallways of the theatre, undeterred by the leaving audience that cut between them sometimes.

Diana greeted Harold, the usher standing by the backstage door, and he let them in.

It buzzed with that particular post-show energy, as cast and crew basked in a job well done and readied themselves to enjoy the rest of the night.

Diana moved comfortably around, waving at people she knew while Phryne, uncommonly silent, took everything in even if she was hardly a stranger to the behind-the-scenes.

When they reached the dressing rooms, Diana knocked on the door with 'Simon Wallace' written on it and opened it a sliver.

«Are you decent? There's company», she said playfully.

«Rarely, even in those circumstances», said the man inside the room.

Diana opened the door wider and signalled for Phryne to follow her.

«Very funny», Diana said, kissing Simon afterwards and squeezing his arm. Thankfully he had already taken off the shirt with the false blood stains and replaced it by his untainted own. Her rational side knew perfectly well that it was all pretend, but Phryne's retelling of the murders she had investigated and witnessed during the production of Ruddigore and her foray into the film industry made Diana feel uneasy when she was in attendance and his characters died on stage. It felt like a fatal mistake was only a slip or a bad intention away.

«Thank you», he said with a theatrical bow, turning to the second visitor meanwhile.

Simon had dark hair, mischievous sparkling blown eyes and a smile that increased his charm immensely.

«Phryne Fisher, the one and only».

«You surely know how to make someone feel welcome. And I didn't even need to tell you that you were wonderful», Phryne said genuinely. She hadn't known him for as long as some of her friends in England, but she had liked him almost instantly back then and it hadn't abated. «And thank you for the tickets».

«You're welcome. Why is one an actor if they can't get good free seats for their friends?», he laughed. «Thank _you_ for the compliment. I'm glad to know you liked it».

Phryne nodded, somewhat reluctant to reveal how she had felt moved by it, regardless of the fact that those two other people in the room were much cherished friends.

«I just have to put on my jacket and my coat and we can go», Simon said, quickly picking up the garments from the chair in front of the mirror and starting to get dressed.

xxx

They went on foot, walking among the people coming out of the theatres and making their way home or looking for a last place to convene in before calling it a night, enthralled by the particular Soho.

The air had grown colder and the women huddled in their shawls and coats, the men comfortable in their suits. Excited conversation and laughter echoed above the streets. It smelt of exhaustion pipes but it felt thrilling and made one feel right in the thick of things, a simple yet sublime moment to be remembered forever.

Phryne got swapped up too. After a brief line to fill Simon in about what had brought her to London, conversation had turned into reminiscing of other nights when they had gone from club to club and what they had done over the two years they had last seen each other and that hadn't crawled into the letters Phryne and Diana frequently exchanged. Yet, there was no nostalgia or baggage hovering, just a seemingly never-ending chat.

They boxed themselves into the exiguous and shaky lift (some people said it could accommodate two at the time, the more optimistic vouched for four) and alighted at the entrance of The Gargoyle Club. That journey had always been Phryne's least favourite part, the metal cage weirdly reminding her of the cupboard where her father locked her but it vanished once she focused on who and what she would find upstairs.

They made their way through the coffee room to the impressive steel and brass staircase that would lead them down to the dining and ball rooms. Walking by the large Matisse painting on the wall, its reds and many shapes jumped at them from the corner of the eye nearly like a preparation to the intense décor waiting for them downstairs – as the ceiling with gold-leaf was inspired by Granada's Alhambra, the rest of the room had Moorish lines and, by suggestion of Matisse himself, the walls were covered with irregular-cut pieces of mirror, giving it a dream-like feel as it reflected the light pouring down from the wooden lantern gargoyles over the fountain at the centre and the people occupying the room.

Phryne took a deep breath. Returning to these places also felt like coming home.

« Ah…The Honourable Phryne Fisher», greeted the smartly-dressed man that walked up to them from the midst of the tables. «You are probably the last person I'd expected to see here tonight. Weren't you living in Australia?»

«You are well-informed, I see», she said with a smile. «I hope you didn't let my membership go dormant, David».

«Never. How could I? Do you think I want to run my own club to the ground?», he continued, feigning offence. «Welcome back. It's wonderful to have you here», he said with a smile.

«Thank you».

«Straight out from the theatre?», David said, including the other two people standing nearby in the conversation.

«And right into the arms of The Gargoyle», Simon replied, smiling and taking the hand the other man offered for him to shake.

«I can't say I complain», the host said with a laugh. «Diana, how do you do? Hermione would like to talk to you about some pictures. She's out there somewhere».

«It's wonderful as always, David. I'll be around for the foreseeable hours too so I'm sure we'll meet. I hope Cecil doesn't take offence.».

«He surely won't – your styles are different, after all», David assured her. «Well, I would like to stay and chat for a while longer, but I was on my way towards the kitchen – that's the true glamourous life of a club owner.»

«Go on and save the night», Phryne said. «It's nice meeting you again».

«Likewise», David said with a nod. «So, if you excuse me».

David went away while Phryne, Diana, and Simon stood still, overlooking the room.

«Detective!»

While the band was loud enough, Phryne recognised that voice nevertheless and looked around, trying to parse where it had come from. To the right of the room, from the table by the window, it seemed. There she was. Louisa, standing, taller than everyone around her, signalling that she didn't mean to warn people of a raid, everything was fine.

Phryne smiled widely and waved. Meanwhile, Louisa had reassured her neighbours and waved back. Miss Fisher snaked her way through the crowd, her eyes mostly fixed on her friend, wearing a cobalt blue dress with golden embroidery. It made her short blonde hair and her blue eyes stand out and people take notice. Knowing Louisa, she knew she didn't care.

Maud was still sitting at the table but her brown eyes were focused on Phryne, ready to jump at her encounter as soon as Miss Fisher was close enough. She might be wearing a rust-colour dress but drawing attention to herself wasn't exactly something she had ever been keen on.

Miss Fisher was aware her friends were waiting for them at the club, so she couldn't say she was exactly surprised, but the impending meeting still filled her with unlimited joy. She had known Diana, Louisa, and Maud for nearly 30 years, which seemed like a lot when thought about like this – how many lives fit in 30 years? How many lives had they lived in 30 years? – but it didn't feel heavy at all when they fell into each other's arms. It never did.

For a moment, none of them could articulate a word, their excited laughter showing how happy they were for being together at last.

«May I?», Diana said, throwing her arms around her friends before anyone could answer, not that any reply was actually needed, and the other women welcomed her in their hug.

Phryne couldn't stop smiling and her chest felt like close to exploding. While they wrote to each other frequently, she missed being this close to her friends and it nearly made her cry. (Maud was actually crying and Phryne drew a lock of her dark hair away and wiped a tear with her thumb without saying a word).

They were still holding each other but grew quiet eventually. Amalia's absence was the only blemish to that moment. Phryne, Louisa, Maud, and Diana were still able to have a wonderful time together, yet they could never be completely oblivious to that painfully empty crack in their group and it seemed even more acute when they met again like this after a long time apart. Being even was what had become odd for them.

Phryne touched the silver and carnelian earrings she was wearing. They had been Amalia's, who had simply given them to Diana one afternoon after her friend had complimented them. The memory made her smile. It was true that they looked good with her outfit, but that detail had also been part of her decision. Amalia there with them somehow.

The waiter appeared by the table to inquire about what they would like to drink, his presence bringing them back to the moment.

«Champagne, perhaps? And I better greet these people before I come across as rude», Phryne said with a laugh, the waiter sent on his way to get a bottle.

«Hello, Lydia», Phryne said as they greeted each other with kisses on the cheek. «How is the new job going?»

«There are still some wrinkles but that was expected, with a new job at a new publishing house», she replied, adding a chuckle at the end after a small pause as if to soften her words.

Phryne smiled. «I'm sure everything will fall into place soon».

«Certainly».

Lydia had brown hair cut in a bob, perceptive dark hazel eyes, a non-nonsense attitude and the mention of her name was enough to strike fear into the hearts of most contemporary poets, even if they knew that her remarks were for the own good of their works. It wasn't exactly purposeful and not related to personality, but while they got along well enough Phryne and Lydia would probably never meet for tea or something by themselves and there seemed to always be a certain reserve on each other's part. They could make small talk, even exchange a joke from now and then, but it apparently needed the padding of having people around them. Maybe their dynamic was intrinsically linked to the fact that Lydia was Simon's sister and Maud's partner. Stripped away from that, there didn't seem to exist much to prod them together. Phryne had wondered from now and then if this distance derived from having been away for most of the time Lydia had come into their group but the same happened with Simon and it didn't seem to matter.

In a way, both appeared to have made peace with this. Personally, what mattered to Phryne was if she was contributing to Maud's happiness and that Lydia seemed to be doing. Maud had always preferred to let herself be seen and heard through her work, and while she still did, there was a particular reassurance in the way she moved and held herself. Miss Fisher appreciated and thanked her for that and for having introduced Simon to Diana and didn't wish her ill - that was the extent of their relationship.

«Always a gentleman, but you can sit down, Simon. Your feet are probably killing you», she said patting him on the shoulder, as she walked by him towards the other man at the table.

«May I sit down too? I've been on my feet at the laboratory all day», he said to Phryne with a smile.

«You may, if you want. I'm hardly someone to be ceremonious with my friends, Dr. Darshil Banerjee», she replied, smiling back, opening the 'a' and accentuating the r and the ee sound in his first name, and kissing him on both cheeks.

Darshil laughed. He was a handsome man with dark hair and beard and expressive brown eyes.

«Will the Nobel be yours this year? After all that standing up in the laboratory?», Phryne said playfully.

«My research isn't ready for it yet this year, but next? Who knows», he replied with an equally playful shrug, his voice shaped by a combination of the Calcutta English and the King's British accents. It wasn't a secret that he wanted to win it someday and he took Phryne's words in stride. It was clear she wasn't questioning his work or effort – something that he wouldn't tolerate at all, and that as a good and respectful friend she would never do.

«Married life agrees with you», remarked Phryne and not only because he looked dashing in his suit.

«Thank you very much», he nodded, «I'm afraid I can't take sole credit for that though», said Darshil with a smile, looking adoringly at Louisa, who was standing up behind Phryne talking to Diana, Simon, and Lydia. As if she had felt it, Louisa raised her eyes for an instant and smiled back.

«It's mutual, I'd say», Phryne said, taking notice of their silent exchange.

When they had decided to get married, Louisa and Darshil had chosen to have a civil ceremony in England first and so the relatives and friends who approved of the match had gathered at the solemn Chelsea Register Office to witness and celebrate a love story that had started because of the correspondence sparked by an academic paper on colloids, a type of substances that includes gels and emulsions.

It had been a grey, cool, and cloudy September day. The bride and the groom, sure of their love for each other, beamed with happiness as they met in front of the frowning officiant, and it set the tone for the rest of the day. Louisa had been hurt by the absence of her beloved grandmother and Rosemary, her cousin that felt more like a sister, but she hadn't let it mar the occasion completely, even if it took a lot of effort not to hear their words echoing in her mind: «being a spinster is hardly advisable, but are you that desperate? That's why you are marrying that…that man? Don't be ridiculous.» As if Darshil weren't a good, intelligent man with so much to recommend him and love wasn't something to be taken into account.

After the ceremony, Maacher Jhol, Biryani, Sandesh, Roast, Beef Wellington, and Fruit Cake were served alongside at the ballroom of the Grantley (much to the manager and some of elements of the staff's chagrin, but Dr. Varnham had the ear – or better said the heart – of many important and moneyed people at his Harley Street surgery for them to refuse it) and the band played until the end of the afternoon as people danced and had fun, the delicately embroidered red bolero Louisa had worn over her pearl dress in deference to her husband's background shining like a beacon as they moved among the guests.

After the party, the bride and groom boarded a train to Scotland for a short honeymoon and Phryne left London the following morning too.

For someone less knowledgeable of her ways, it might seem that there was a pattern to be discerned, some sort of wish to run away from others' happiness, or even jealousy. She would vehemently refuse it. It was true that Dot and Hugh's and Louisa and Darshil's weddings brought cycles to an end, but she saw it as natural and positive. Life marches on and milestones (those or others) were its drum.

Phryne had been feeling restless in England for a while and the timing for another adventure seemed just right. She packed a trunk and went to Abyssinia and the Middle East and then to America, where she went from New York to Los Angeles without any plans in mind.

She was at the Biltmore when she had received Malcolm Foyle's letter. It had been sent to Chester Square and Margaret had forwarded it to her daughter without opening it or adding a single accompanying note. In that moment, Phryne had wished she hadn't come away just so her mother wouldn't have to endure it. The thought of her mother coming across that letter with her breakfast had made Phryne's stomach knot and the anger she felt towards Foyle burned even stronger. She had set her mind long ago that she would meet him again if asked and that thought and those feelings fuelled her resolution beyond any possible regret. Lately she had been thinking about Australia a great deal, but with that new circumstance it had become a command.

At first, she would go to back to do everything she could to prevent Foyle from ever getting out of jail. Staying for a while had crossed her mind, but she had never actually considered living in her birth country again until the Andrews' murder investigation had led her to taking a chance at being a detective and her household started to bloom around her.

«Oh, look. I didn't have to go to India to see you this time», Louisa said, approaching them and putting a hand on Phryne's shoulder, her bangles rattling.

Phryne laughed and patted her friend's hand in return.

«It was my turn to do some travelling».

Ten months ago, Louisa and Darshil had gone to India to visit the elderly relatives who hadn't been able to make the trip to England and to have the traditional wedding ceremonies they had felt appropriate considering the bride wasn't a Hindu. She would have been invited nevertheless, but Bedford College, the University of London College, and their jobs didn't give them time enough to visit her in Australia so Phryne had joined them there instead.

«How are Adhira and Charun?», Phryne asked, meaning Darshil's siblings.

«Adhira is running a new project aiming to provide medical care for pregnant women and small children and Charun has been absolutely heartbroken since you left and has done little else than tend to his army duties and cricket», Darshil said with pretend sorrow.

«Tell her to contact me, in case she needs more funding.»

«Will do. Thank you».

«I imagine. Poor Charun», replied Phryne in jest, with a laugh. Both of them had had a lot of fun in London and Calcutta but they were in agreement about how their liaisons had been completely unattached. «Tell him I wish him the best when you next write to him».

Darshil nodded in agreement. He knew Phryne wasn't being sarcastic.

«And your classes?», she said, turning to Louisa.

«They're going very well», replied a very pleased and proud Louisa. «It's an absolute delight teaching those girls. They are as smart as a whip». Her investigation might have not progressed much since her doctorate but she didn't regret having chosen to pursue teaching and it clearly showed – Ida Freund was one of her idols, after all. Right now, encouraging a new generation of women chemists was what mattered to her and she believed that her students would surely be involved in incredible breakthroughs to come. She was tremendously invested in helping to foster that same sense into her students and show the world how bright women could be.

Louisa had always been curious and inquiring and had benefitted enormously from being brought up by a father who believed that girls should be as educated as boys. (Her mother thought the same but no matter how much child-rearing was considered the women's domain, decisions of that magnitude weren't exactly in their hands). And so as they grew up, both Louisa and her brother had been given the same opportunities. Many people had usually praised Richard's intelligence and the fact that he was studying at Harrow but Louisa's abilities had been remarked upon like a somewhat unpleasant surprise and looked at like an exotic and frightening bird. While she hadn't doubted herself – she had been too confident since childhood for that – it had gnawed on her sometimes and channelling her efforts into learning and improving had felt not only incredibly rewarding but also the best slap on those people's faces she could ever deliver. That unabashed pride in their intelligence had been one of the first things that had brought her and Phryne together, back then when Diana had introduced her new friend one afternoon.

While Phryne was undeniably confident in her intelligence and skill and had always striven to improve it to the best of her abilities, she couldn't help but be tremendously aware of the faults in her formal education. Adapting to a new school didn't scare her, she wore her bravado like an invincibility cape but the entrance exam she would have to complete and then, if everything went according to the plan, having to catch up with such an exigent schooling was much more daunting.

Louisa was quite confident in herself too bit she wished she was able to own it more fully, to take the space she thought was rightfully hers but which she only seemed capable to harness when challenged. While she did derive some satisfaction from the surprise it caused, she also resented herself for not seeming able to maintain it more constantly.

And so each took what they were good at and helped the other get better. Cynics might see it as some sort of trade-off. They thought 'friendship' was much more accurate.

«And speaking of very smart girls… how is Jane? I absolutely loved to meet her when she was in London and I'm looking forward to seeing her at Bedford in a couple of years.»

Phryne smiled proudly.

«Well, as far as I know. I'm going to meet her soon and I'm so excited. I encouraged her to take this tour and it's very rewarding to see her so happy and with a sense such a sense of achievement but I miss her so much. »

Turning that feeling into words made it seem even more acute and Phryne wished she could hug Jane right in that moment.

«Bedford would be lucky to have her, if that's what she wants».

«She seemed very interested in what she was seeing when I showed her around.», Louisa raised an eyebrow. «But I'll stop. I'm paid to teach Chemistry not to run the Admissions Office and to be honest I prefer it like that».

«I'm very happy for you», Phryne said, smiling at her friend.

«Awww. Thank you», replied Louisa, hugging Phryne, brushing her fringe away and kissing her friend on the forehead. «Uh… lipstick», she said, trying to wipe it off with her fingers. «It won't do, let me get a napkin», Louisa laughed and Phryne laughed too but stood still.

«There, take my handkerchief», said Darshil, taking it from his pocket.

«Now – I think it's good», Louisa said, looking from afar as if appraising a painting and putting her hand in the curve of Darshil's elbow.

«Thank you. Much obliged», Phryne nodded theatrically. «I think I will talk to Maud a little, if you don't mind».

«Do go. She misses you a great deal», said Louisa. They sat down and resumed talking to other people at the table.

«Maudie», Phryne said, hugging her seated friend from behind.

Phryne had always felt somewhat protective of Maud. Back then at 14, when they had first met, she hadn't been able to completely explain why but the hindsight afforded by life experience associated it to the contrast between Maud's shyness and Diana and Louisa's more outgoing personalities, even if her unattached look at their dynamics and the different realities she had known before lead Phryne to believe they weren't stringing her along maliciously and that their friendship begun at Queen's Gate School was genuine. It also hadn't wavered as Louisa went to North London Collegiate School as she pursued her interest in studying science more seriously nor been affected by the addition of Amalia to the group, sponsored by Phryne this time.

Besides, Miss Fisher would witness as time went by that there was a great deal of strength beyond her friend's apparently mild and accommodating temper.

Maud Kinsley-Lynton hadn't been supposed to become a painter.

Her interest in the arts had been appreciated at home while it was confined to being a hobby and meant to be applied to "becoming" activities like painting watercolour landscapes that would be displayed in her future home like a quaint curiosity. But while Maud had enjoyed those enough, the more she learnt about art, the more she wished to break free from such limits and become an artist herself, a development that, unsurprisingly, hadn't been well-received by traditional family. She would finish her education at Queen's Gate, get married to a very suitable man and have her house and their children – soon those artistic delusions would dissipate back to the infantile plans they had always meant to be.

But Maud pictured a different future for herself. During the months after her court presentation, she had enjoyed the Season with youthful giddiness and enthusiasm but she chose to follow a different path eventually. Fuelled by her own tenacity and cheered on and supported by her beloved Aunt Elizabeth, she had gone on to attend the Slade School of Fine Arts where her studies deepened her understanding of art and her techniques.

Maud held Phryne's hands and only let them go when they were seating across each other. She wasn't much for nicknames, but she had always received Phryne's fondly. She couldn't recall when she had called her like that for the first time but it felt intrinsic to their friendship and she had missed hearing her say that term. There were a couple of people who had used that name and while she had never publically rebuffed it, internally, it had grated on her.

«Hello, stranger», Maud said without any trace of contempt or reproach.

«It's stating the obvious but it's so good to see you», Phryne said.

«Likewise, dear Phryne, likewise».

«Please tell me I'm not too late for your exhibition» Phryne said, clasping her hands together. «It was often what kept me flying on».

Almost no one who looked at Maud would guess she was the author of the imposing geometric designs applied to large canvases, the biggest ones sizeable enough to fill a wall. (Signed with her full name in capital letters at the bottom, a move that might contained a hit of pettiness Maud had been surprised to find in herself, but which she hadn't changed nor was planning on changing. It was her work and a reflection of herself and for good and for worse her family was part of that).

«You're not». Maud chuckled. «I mean we can't go there right now even if Peter is probably somewhere around here, you know how he is with business hours, but name the time tomorrow and I'll take you to the gallery at once.»

«It won't be early, that I can assure you», Phryne said with a laugh that found a match in Maud's.

«I would never ask that of you and I'm here too so I don't think I could ask that of me either».

There had always been a particular tenderness to their friendship, probably because of how distant both felt from their families – no one else in their group would understand it that well. Also, it didn't mean that Maud didn't trust Louisa, Diana or Amalia, but Phryne had always been the friend she had felt most comfortable confiding in, even if was something hard for her to do, always fearing to be a burden.

It had been to Phryne she had confided her fear that she might have pushed too far and lead to the severance of her relationship with her family for a career she wasn't sure she would succeed at and it had been to Phryne that she had revealed the relief felt upon the realisation that maybe she wasn't cut out to be in a relationship went beyond a sort of consequence of the weight her family had put in marriage until Maud had been surprised by her reaction to Drusilla Scott's indifference.

Phryne had also felt very at ease with Maud when all the changes in her life seemed overwhelming or Janey's absence felt more acute than what she had thought could still be possible, when the war tore her faith in humanity to shreds. She might not be able to convey it in words very well, but she would understand.

«I've made you something», Maud said, reaching out to her handbag and taking out a rolled piece of paper.

Phryne smiled and hugged her even before seeing what it was. Those small gestures were so Maud and she had missed them. They often changed letters and telegrams but it wasn't the same.

Miss Fisher took the gift and iuntied the carefully-made bow in which the teal ribbon had been arranged.

As she unrolled the sheet of paper, it revealed a rather cubist portrait of a woman with dark hair and a flying helmet on, dressed I a beige suit.

«Oh, Maudie», Phryne said, getting teary-eyed.

«I was supposed to go on a book cover I'm working on but it turned out I couldn't give it to Lydia to show the author in the end», Maud said, her tone a bit embarrassed but pleased by how her friend seemed to have appreciated the gift.

«Oh, Maudie. It's beautiful. Thank you very much», Phryne said, hugging her again. «These are the best portraits: drawn by friends who really know you».

Phryne continued looking at the portrait, pausing just to say:

«I hope you don't get in trouble for this. I wouldn't want you to miss your deadline and lose the assignment».

Maud waved Phryne's worry away.

« I still delivered a cover the next day so everything is fine. I haven't been fired. Thank you for the concern nevertheless».

«Always».

«If I may, excuse me», the waiter had approached the table and was making way for the champagne that had been ordered.

A chain of thank-yous was heard as the man placed the glasses on the table.

«I I would like to propose a toast», said Phryne, getting up and raising her glass, the action barely noticed beyond their group in the midst of the frenzied ambiance of the club.

«To many happy returns». She continued, «I know this is usually applied to birthdays but the feeling still stands. May we be together like this often as pleasantly. Cheers».

Louisa, Darshil, Simon, Diana, Lydia, and Maud all stood up and joined the toast.

«Very well said. Cheers», Louisa clapped as best as she could while holding the glass.

«This is good champagne», remarked Diana after taking a sip.

«David would never settled for less», offered Simon.

On the stage, the band continued to feel the electrifying mood in the club as they started playing another song.

«If you don't mind, I'm going to dance», Phryne said, taking a final sip of her champagne and putting the glass on the table.

«We certainly don't, and we certainly will», said Diana, reaching out to Simon, who took her hand with a smile and kissed her on the cheek.

«Oh, yes, that would be fun», agreed Maud, looking at Lydia.

«Very fun».

Louisa looked quizzically but devotedly at Darshil. He nodded, smiled at her and offered her his hand, which she gladly took.

The group made their way to the dance floor, laughing excitedly, some feet tapping to more than the simple pace of walking, unable to ignore the music for much longer, finally merging with the crowd that had gathered in front of the band and dancing the first dance of a seemingly endless night.

* * *

A/N: So it turns out that the 'soon' I had mentioned in my last note became a year. It wasn't planned at all and I'm genuinely shocked to discover it had taken this long. I'm sorry and I hope there's at least something in this chapter that makes it up for the wait.

It has been so long, so I better recap that the operetta I wrote Phryne and Diana going to is «Bitter Sweet» a real play written by Noël Coward and showing at then His Majesty's Theatre (it's Her's Majesty's Theatre now) in 1929. The story is «set in 19th century and early 20th century England and Austria-Hungary, [and] centres on a young woman's elopement with her music teacher.» That's what wikipedia says. You can find on you tube 3 clips of it - silent, obviously, but it's interesting to see nevertheless.

The songs mentioned are part of the libretto but I tweaked reality and had fictional Simon play the role that was George Metaxa's in reality.

The Gargoyle Club did exist and was one of the hottest spots in 1920s London, located on Dean Street (at the corner with Meard St) in Soho. The 'David' that greets Phryne, Diana, and Simon is David Tennant, the founder of this private member's club and brother to Stephen Tennant, said to be the 'brightest' of the Bright Young Things. «Hermione» was his wife, actress Hermione Baddley and «Cecil» refers to «Cecil Beaton», Bright Young Thing himself and photographer to the stars, including royalty, as you can see portrayed on The Crown.

The details pertaining to the lift and the inside decor at the time are as mentioned as far as I could ascertain. Then the club, the building, and the business went through a lot of changes meanwhile until it reopened as Dean Street Townhouse in 2009, a hotel and restaurant that allegedly is the place where Meghan and Harry's first date took place (don't quote me on that, it's just something I read as I researched).

I hope you enjoy Phryne's friends. It's no secret that my brain ends up providing me with more OCs than what would probably be advisable in fanfiction but it does happen and I love them. I'm glad to know you seem to have taken a liking to Diana so I hope the rest don't disappoint.

I feel that I must address Darshil in particular. I'm not Indian, let alone an Indian man in 20s London so it's obvious that what I wrote regarding his background is based upon research and a bit inspired by Jnanendra Nath Mukherjee's professional path. (Of whom and which I had no idea about until I thought in more depth about the character and tried to figure out what his career would be like - see, fanfiction is educational). Mukherjee did write a paper on colloids which was published in the Journal of the Chemical Society in 1924 (one of the predecessors of the current Royal Society of Chemistry). UCL stands for University College London, University of London - University College as its official name in the 1920s but retaining the former acronym in informal situations.

While I do acknowledge that him being Indian might be playing into the stereotype (I had thought of making Louisa a chemist first and it influenced her husband's job), I tried not to other him, to treat him as the other characters in terms of goals and ambitions and give him and Louisa a beautiful love story (I've written much more about their courtship and their life but in the end I decided to cut it out because I felt it wasn't pertinent to this chapter; I think about them a lot 'these lovely nerds') but he's still an Indian man in what I gather would be a predominately white environment and it would come with plenty of challenges. I hope I didn't over do it and at the same time that I didn't gloss over them. Looking back, trying to strike that balance was probably one of the reasons why this chapter took so long. «Call him Daniel and be done with it», I thought in a couple of occasions, but I have grown to like him too much for that and feared I might be doing a disservice with such an action.

(Trivia: Women lost their British citizenship if they married foreign men: "aliens", in the so-called technical term. I think Louisa wouldn't lose hers by marrying Darshil because technically they would both be Subjects of The British Empire - even if he would have a different passport issued to people from the Empire beyond the Isles) Let me know if I got it wrong though).

Well, all this to say that I hope I was mindful but also that he stands as a character on his own. I'm obviously open to notes people more in the know of such a context may have.

Bedford College was the first higher education college for women founded in the UK and science was at the core of their very first programs. It has a very interesting story I suggest you check out.

The Grantley Hotel does not exist. I'm not saying that a wedding like Louisa and Darshil's wouldn't have raised many eyebrows and disgruntlement (it would) but I didn't want to put a real hotel in that situation - look-wise, just imagine one of those grand London hotels and you get the gist.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and may the next be updated sooner., but I can't make any promises.

Thank you for your time and possible feedback - you know I love to hear from you.


	8. Chapter 8

The key felt heavy in Phryne's hand. Well, not the object itself since it was a piece of brass in a discreet leather key-ring embossed with her father's coat of arms in golden ink (which, truth be told, had been a rather restrained choice by Henry).

It was having it in her possession that discomfited her. It felt strangely intimate for, after all, this house wasn't hers and, thanks to the entailment laws attached to the barony, would never be.

Usually, Hewitt would always be ready to open the door when the bell rang, but Margaret didn't want Phryne to feel under control in any way, so she had given her the key to move as she pleased. Miss Fisher rarely had any qualms about walking into a place with her head held high, even if – or particularly if – her presence wasn't wished for but navigating coming and going at her ease into the Chester Square house after her two-year absence wasn't easy.

She took a deep breath, put the key back into her handbag, and rang the bell.

«Good afternoon, Miss Fisher», the butler said formally as he moved aside to let her come through. As expected, he had taken just seconds to reach the door.

«Good afternoon, Hewitt», she said with a social smile.

«His Lordship would like to give you a word in the dining room».

 _Of_ course, _he would_ , Phryne nearly said out loud. She nodded and thanked him instead.

As she walked ahead, the faint sound of politely-maneuvered cutlery came into focus from the room on her right. On her way to Chester Square, Phryne had wondered if she would say something if she came across her parents but she hadn't drawn a conclusion. There was no need now, it had been chosen for her.

«At last, dear daughter», Henry boomed, setting his fork down. «Are these proper hours for a lady to come back home?»

His tone managed to be both condescending and mocking at the same time and Phryne had to steel herself not to scream.

«I didn't realise I was one with a curfew this time. I thought we were still keeping yours from the trip», she replied cuttingly.

Henry looked as if the piece of meat he had bitten into meanwhile had turned out to be made of stone after all.

«Good afternoon, Mother», Phryne continued, turning her attention to Margaret, her voice much softer.

«Hello, Phryne. Did you have a good time? », she asked sincerely, smiling at her daughter. She had felt close to mortified when Henry had told Hewitt to call Phryne in but hadn't wanted to contradict his orders – the staff didn't need to be made aware of their issues more than what they had certainly picked up already. «And thank you for telephoning, it left me much more at ease».

«I did. It's wonderful to meet my friends again. You're welcome. I might fuss a little if it were Jane going out in the morning and not coming back for a day without at least telling me she was alright. I'm sorry your evening was certainly less amusing».

«Oh, Phryne, that's a very cruel thing to say», Henry retorted apparently recovered from the indigestible bite, meaning his implied role in the course of the evening more than any possible disrespect towards Margaret.

«That's enough, Henry», Margaret said, her gaze sharp on her husband. Phryne's remark might have been a bit out of step but he had started it all and as the parent he had the obligation to rise above such things.

«If you excuse me… Ah, and It's very unlikely I'll have dinner at home. Don't wait up», Phryne said with a nod and left, going upstairs.

Phryne ditched her coat, the hat, and handbag, throwing them onto her bed. She knew she shouldn't let herself get into such a state, caving in to it was giving more power to Henry and his behaviour than what he was worth, but she seemed to have run out of all the control she had managed to gain over the years in the course of Henry's return to Australia and the needed trip to bring him back to London.

She took a deep breath. She had woken up on Diana and Simon's sofa with the already high sun pouring in through the gaps in the curtains.

At the end of the night, everyone had piled up in Louisa's car and when she had asked where to drop Phryne so she could plan the best route, Miss Fisher had stayed silent for an instant. Diana had glanced at Phryne and replied on her behalf:

«With us».

Phryne had smiled at her in appreciation and acknowledgement. She had hardly ever felt beholden to 'was supposed to', at particularly now at her current age, but it did feel she had been supposed to go back to Chester Square even if she didn't look forward to capping such a memorable night with the return to a place which was brimming with so much tension, regardless of the fact that it was tremendously late and the chances of actually coming across someone were very low.

Many had been the times Phryne had run away to the Chapmans' when she had felt smothered by Henry's callousness, disdain, and recklessness, Margaret appeared completely forlorn to do anything and Phryne had felt small and as easily breakable as a twig. Back then, she had hungrily made her way there, walking for most of the path and daring to take the underground by herself for the rest, hurt beyond belief but attuned to her surrounds as girls and women always have to be.

In spite of being clearly assured it wasn't the case, Phryne had never wanted to overstay her welcome and limited her time there to a night at maximum but for her that respite in Putney had felt like a breath of fresh air after walking through a dense curtain of smoke and she felt again able to take on whatever words and actions Henry threw at her.

It had been a long time ago, but that interaction with her father almost made her want to rush out the door and make her way back to Doughty Street, even if she had money to check-in into one of London's grand hotels right that minute. Diana would gladly take her – she had actually said so, she might only had the sofa to offer her but it was heartfelt and if they had managed to sleep on a truckbed in the middle of a muddy war field as they had, the sofa didn't sound so bad, did it?

Phryne would gladly dive into the pleasant familiarity of Diana's green dressing gown which she had since they were girls and still wore - «it's the most comfortable piece of clothing I own, I've already told Simon and my mother that I want to be buried in it» -, of feeding Shakespeare with pieces of ham, listening to Simon do his voice exercises as he warmed up for that night's performance, sitting at the table as they talked with no limits, seeing if she could still remember the steps to properly develop photographs as Diana had once taught her, seeing her friends deliriously happy and feeling happy herself for being with them.

It would be an appealing perspective anyway, but it was even more in sharp contrast with the stifling kind of familiarity currently ongoing at her parents' house, namely regarding Henry, with barbs lurking underneath any interaction, something akin to resentment always hanging over, the wish to come across each other as little as possible. The consideration and fondness she felt for her mother were the only reasons why she wasn't throwing her newly bought clothes into a bag and leaving right in that instant, but if Phryne wanted to be honest with herself, she wouldn't offer any guarantees about how long she could manage to live like this.

Phryne was looking forward to meeting Maud to see her paintings but she wanted to change and take a bath before.

She walked into the dressing room and opened the wardrobe door, to find her purchases neatly hung from the rail or folded and stored in drawers, certainly put way by the maid. She made a mental note to thank her when she saw her at last and to leave a tip.

Phryne picked out a pair of wool cream trousers and a velvet cherry-coloured coat.

On one hand, she didn't want to burden her mother with having to keep an eye on Henry and steering the boat more than what she already had to, but maybe if she kept herself out of the house as much as possible, only remaining in when she inevitably had to, she might be able to stretch her patience and to protect herself enough to endure for another day more.

* * *

A/n: So, this time it took less than a year to update this story. It's a small and not very pleasant chapter (Henry is the worst, gah) but I hope you find something appealing about it nevertheless.

I hope it doesn't take very long to be able to post the new chapter but since I'm still writing it, at this time I don't have any idea about when it can be.

Thank you, Magpieblues and Lillibelle for reading this story and for your comments. I'm very pleased to know you enjoyed Phryne's night out with her friends. I hope you continue enjoying this story.

Thank you all for your time. And remember that I always love to hear from you. Your feedback is appreciated as always.


	9. Chapter 9

Phryne's steps were light with the echo of a very well-spent day.

She had cheerfully met Maud and Peter Harrington in Bloomsbury, genuinely glad to see that her former landlord's dream of opening his own art gallery had come true and looking forward to devotedly immersing herself in her friend's latest work.

The bold and colourful geometric abstract style elicited a deep sense of energy and positivity in Phryne, enhanced by how proud of her work Maud was. It was an absolute delight to watch her speak excitedly about the choice of colours, shapes, and techniques as they made their way through the exhibition, her features lighting up with animation and her hands sweeping across the air as if she was planning and sketching those pictures anew.

Peter had gone to his study to take care of some pending paperwork (definitely his least favourite part of working for himself) and Phryne and Maud were alone now in front of a painting in marigold, blue, and red that had jolted Miss Fisher.

The sudden flash of how well those colours went with the stained glass around Wardlow's front door and how it would look on the wall of the landing at the end of the hallway hit her with an unexpected pang of longing. She had missed Melbourne from now and then but it had never felt like she was missing «home» until that moment.

Propelled by the many wonderful memories of the years she had lived there and the dear friends she had made, London held a special place in Phryne's heart, but she came to the conclusion that she now felt this city as a familiar but distant place.

While not unexpected, being able to articulate it these impressions this clearly left her shaken and even a bit breathless. It had been glorious to meet those she loved and esteemed in person after so much time away, seeing her mother, even they hadn't been together so often, and she was set to cherish that time with them to the hilt, but there was somewhere else she was very keen to go back to, sooner or later. Staying in London had never exactly been on the table, but these new realisations brought a new weight to that vague resolution of returning to Australia eventually.

«Are you alright?», asked Maud. «You became very pale all of a sudden». She put a hand on Phryne's arm and looked at her friend attentively, trying to ascertain the gravity of Phryne's spell.

«Yes and no?», replied Miss Fisher, after a deep breath. She would never offend their friendship with a shallow answer to such a question.

«Isn't it strange to feel that you do or don't belong somewhere?», Phryne continued. «Particularly when you hadn't really found yourself beholden to a place before? Maybe to some people but definitely not places?», she mused. That was probably what had startled Phryne the most. She obviously missed the family gathered at 221B but she also missed the sandy beaches around Port Philip's bay, so close to St Kilda, the constant buzz around Flinders Station, even the mercurial Melbourne weather. Maybe there was more of that city in her than what Phryne had ever believed.

Phryne hadn't looked directly at Maud, but she felt compelled to answer nevertheless.

«In a way, I guess? But at the same time it does seem to make sense, I'd say.»

For Maud, it had been her family she had felt she didn't belong to, still did, in fact, while geographically she was where she always felt she was supposed to be, perhaps because she could work well in London and there were other people grounding her there, like her friends, Aunt Elizabeth, and Lydia.

«It looks like that while some acknowledgments come easily with age, others seem even harder to come by», Maud said.

Phryne nodded and took a deep breath, trying to soothe her heart. There wasn't much she could add and neither did Maud.

«Your work is amazing», Phryne said genuinely, moving on to the next painting, this one rendered in blue, green, and yellow.

Maud smiled, truly honoured. She had faith in her ability and skills but being recognised that openly by someone so important to her filled her with a particular sense of achievement.

They resumed visiting the exhibition, strolling merrily arm in arm. Once the tour was finished, they bid goodbye to Peter and after a decadent afternoon tea at the Grantley, made their way to their dinner plans.

xxx

Louisa and Darshil's home was the smallest in their friends' group but it was definitely the favourite and no one minded getting a bit cramped up in the flat near the British Museum. Both hosts cooked very well and knew how to entertain so between games, dancing, incursions into their very well stocked liquour cabinet and conversation, there was never a dull moment and those evenings went on and on without anyone noticing the time passing.

At 3 am, Phryne had just returned from such a pleasant soirée. It was late enough to remove any qualms about the use of the key her mother had given her and Phryne let herself in.

Everything was quiet and in the dark. Carefully, Phryne walked up the stairs, trying to make the least amount of noise possible. But the light coming from under the drawing room door halted her in her step.

Phryne opened the door and found Margaret sitting on the sofa in her night and dressing gowns; in front of her, a pot of tea Miss Fisher knew would be cold by now.

Her mother raised her eyes towards Phryne. She could read a heart-breaking embarrassment that made Miss Fisher want to cry and scream at the same time.

«Where is he?», Phryne asked in the most normal tone of voice she could muster instead.

«At the club? I don't know», Margaret said with a defeated and disappointed sigh.

Phryne had regretted bringing Henry back a handful of times but they paled to nothing in comparison with the fury that engulfed her in that particular moment. She couldn't say she was surprised to find out that Henry's promises to change were empty vows (quite the contrary – she would have been astonished if he had indeed behaved differently or at least made an effort to) but she discovered that she had held some tiny hope that distance and meeting Margaret again might lead him to step up and act like a good man and a good husband.

She sat down next to Margaret and took one of her hand in hers.

«Sometimes I wonder if your father is really this oblivious and callous or just feels so overwhelmed by everything he just carries on as if nothing was happening».

Phryne would bet on the first option but didn't reply. It seemed that the meeting with the solicitor hadn't gone very well.

Margaret sighed.

«We have to sell the Seymours», she said, wiping her teary eyes with the cuff of her dressing gown, meaning the two 18th century equestrian paintings in their country house library. «From this moment on, it's best to sell Brentby or this house instead of any more art. With the Turner, the Gainsborough, the Reynolds and the Copley on the walls, they will surely fetch more money and maybe that will be enough for a while. Maybe the Stricklands will buy it. I was foolishly trying to hold on to something for ourselves and the next Baron, whoever he is, but I think there isn't much more I can do.»

Phryne held Margaret in her arms as he mother cried with abandon. Her heart tightened even more. Margaret would never allow herself to be that vulnerable and to reveal it unless she was at her absolute limit, especially to her daughter.

«I love Henry but I don't think I like him anymore», Margaret said after she was able to manage her sobs, a hand on her forehead.

Phryne hugged Margaret again. None of the things she wanted to say would be of help and instead of lying to her mother with empty words Margaret would recognise as such, Miss Fisher thought it would be more productive to show her mother that she wanted to comfort her through actions like this.

«I'm going to make you a pot of proper tea», Phryne said, squeezing Margaret's hand.

«Thank you, dear», Margaret touched Phryne's face tenderly.

xxx

«Hello?»

«Darshil, hello. I'm very sorry for calling this late. Is Louisa still up?»

«Yes, I'll get her. Is everything alright?»

«Not at all», Phryne replied with the ease of trust.

«Louisa is here. I'll put her on. Let us know if you need something».

«Thank you, my friend».

Phryne faced the dining room, hoping that the water for Margaret's tea wasn't boiling in the kitchen already.

«Darling, what happened?», the straightforwardness in Louisa's voice made Phryne wish it would be possible to hug her through the telephone cables .

«I'm sorry I'm calling this late but could I borrow you motorcar? My mother had to sell theirs and I don't want to bring a taxi driver into this mess».

«Of course. I'm just going to throw a coat over and I'll be right there».

«Thank you very much, Louisa dear».

«Always».

After she hung up the phone, Phryne prepared Margaret a lavender and honey infusion and a plate of biscuits and took them upstairs.

Her mother thanked her and Phryne replied that it had been no trouble. They said nothing else. There was no need to.

* * *

A/N: First of all, may you have a happy 2020 with everything you wish for.

So here it is, the new chapter of this seemingly endless fic. It has been taking a lot more to write (and finish) than what I had ever predicted but let's hope that slow and steady wins the race.

I have the following chapter already written so I hope it doesn't take this long to update the story, but I'd rather not make any promises.

Your feedback is appreciated as always.


	10. Chapter 10

«Are you sure you don't want us to come with you?», Louisa asked, turning in her seat to face Phryne after she stopped the motorcar in St. James's St., ahead of Brooks's main entrance, the faint outdoor lighting sketching her features.

«Yes, for the time being. We'll see how this turns out first before calling in the cavalry. But thank you for offering anyway», said Miss Fisher, touching Louisa and Darshil's shoulders. She loved her friends and was very thankful for their help but her being a woman would be an obstacle enough to removing Henry from the club; showing up with another woman and an Indian man by her side wouldn't make the task any easier.

«We'll wait here then. And remember: Sir Philip Varnham is only a telephone call away», Louisa said as Phryne got out of the vehicle, meaning her father, himself a member of the club as well.

«I hope it doesn't come to that».

Miss Fisher fastened her navy coat to fend off the cold October air and made her way towards the Palladian facade of Brooks's, decorated with a pediment up top and pilasters between the windows.

She rang the bell and waited.

«Good evening, Madam. I'm afraid ladies aren't allowed in. Can I help you somehow? », said the porter who answered the door.

«Good evening. Yes, I'm aware of that strict policy», Phryne said, not meaning to start on the wrong foot but not willing to let it slide either.

«Miss Phryne Fisher», she continued, proffering her card, the version without the 'Lady Detective' mention, that was. It would sit better. «Lord Henry Fisher is my father and he is inside. I need to speak with him, if you would be so kind as to arrange it. There's some urgency to it », she added in the most pleasant tone.

«I'm sorry, Madam, but this is a private club», the porter said, affecting the falsely clueless air people in similar positions all over the world had for such occasions.

Phryne appreciated the discretion and professionalism in most circumstances but this porter's were a hindrance she'd rather not have to deal with at this time of night.

«I understand. Good night», she said to the man, turning in her heels and walking away, hearing him close the door behind her.

Phryne considered calling in that favour with Louisa's father after all. His word would certainly have enough weight to either let her in or summon Henry out. But she was sure Sir Philip had been one of the people involved in proposing Henry for membership and she didn't want to leave him in a difficult position or embarrass him; her father certainly did it enough on his own already.

The drapes were open upstairs, but at street level, translucent curtains had been shut, making it possible to discern the light features, and some human and furniture silhouettes but without much detail. Nevertheless, Phryne peered into the room as she turned the corner of the building, trying to ascertain where her father could be.

She found the wrought iron gate in the fence that led to what she guessed to be the service entrance at the basement of the club. It was locked but seemed easy for her to pick, regardless of the incipient light provided by the street lamp nearby and her being a bit exposed.

Phryne sighed as she worked on it. She was tired of getting dragged into her father's imbroglios. Hers were enough, mostly innocuous and, in fact, she had walked into the majority of them willingly. This was not. Phryne rarely had qualms about breaking into building in the course of her investigations but doing so to stop Henry from making another muddle or deepening it was too much of a repetition for her. Moving to the other side of the world had been as close to making magic as she had been able to come up with and yet it had all followed her.

They had seen each other only a couple of times so Phryne had been quite surprised when she found out her maternal grandmother had left her a not-insignificant amount of money. Surprised but also relieved, as that inheritance paved Phryne's way to becoming independently wealthy and without having to live both under the shade of the barony assets (mis)managed by her father or the imminent return to poverty, which terrified her as only it can do to someone who has once been in those circumstances.

And yet there she was, picking another lock, this time in near darkness because the black-painted door was too far away from the street lamp on the pavement above.

Phryne wondered sometimes if she was been too inflexible and unfeeling, deliberately choosing to only see the worst in her father; forgetting that he had his own feelings and maybe even reasons to behave like he did. After all, he had been the one who had risen faster and higher in society with that sudden title and money. Phryne recognised that it put some things in perspective but it couldn't excuse how he had treated her when she was a child, couldn't excuse not listening to those who loved and cared about him even if he might not like to hear the truths they had to say and paying attention to unknowns' flatteries instead. She didn't owe him overlooking these faults because he had found himself way over his head 25 years ago and it had magnified the flaws that had been his even before that.

The longed-for 'click' came at last and the door turned on its hinges. As she closed it back, there were two interior bolts Phryne was glad hadn't been closed. She mentally thanked the staff member who sneaked out to smoke, judging by the smell of cigarettes still lingering in the air and the full ashtray on the bench by the door.

Phryne walked through the service hallway, cautious not to let her heels tap on the floor. Everything was quiet and any small noise would sound like thunder. Like most people in a familiar night environment, the staff would know what was the water running through pipes or any machinery which was supposed to be on and what was out of the norm.

The rooms upstairs would be large and plenty and she didn't have a single idea about where she could find her father, whether there were many people around and if so, where, so she could move without risking getting caught. But there was a place everybody stopped by sooner or later and she set out to locate it.

xxx

«Phryne?», Henry's tone and face were warped in a mixture of surprise and confusion. «What are you doing here?».

«To take you home. Since you don't seem to know how to get there by yourself», she said in a dry tone. «Again».

Henry puffed. «You can't be here», he said, looking at the heavy velvet drapes by the bathroom behind which his daughter had been hiding for who-knew-for-how-long.

That was another thing that weighed on her: how in the course of cleaning after Henry there was always some farcical moment that seemed to undermine how serious it all actually was.

« Yes, the porter told me. But I'll only go if I leave with you», declared Phryne.

«I can't simply vanish. There are people waiting for me to be back within a reasonable timeframe», Henry countered in a tone that was meant to let his daughter know that he was sure had had trumped her intentions.

«You have exactly one minute to bid your goodbyes and meet me at the front door. If you don't show up within that reasonable time frame, be sure that I will cause such a scandal you will not be allowed in the doorway anymore». Phryne's voice was even more unwavering than usual and a sudden flick in Henry's eyes betrayed that he was sure she would do so.

xxx

«Oh, come on, Phryne. I wasn't doing anything wrong», he pleaded when he joined her outside.

«Whose £10,000 were you gambling away now? Yours they can't be because you don't have that kind of money at your easy disposal anymore. Or was it being 'invested' in some brand new sport no one has ever heard again but which will be a success or some sort of snake oil emporium? It's always a surprise with you – I have to give you that».

«Why can't you believe that I was just talking with friends tonight and enjoying a glass of brandy?»

«We better get home before this sours even more. It's too early in the morning for this».

Phryne started walking towards the motorcar and Henry, pouting like a child, reluctantly followed.

«Good evening, Lord Fisher».

«Dear Louisa, Darshil!», Henry charmingly greeted once he got in the car. «How do you do? I'm sorry my daughter dragged you out of bed at this ungodly hour».

Phryne glared at him as she closed the door.

«Not at all. I do love London by night», Louisa said, starting the car.

At such late hour, they moved swiftly through the deserted streets and soon enough Dr Varnham-Banerjee had parked her red motorcar in front of the Fisher house.

Phryne thanked her friends, wished them a safe drive back home and let herself and Henry in.

She had already one foot on the first step of the staircase when he said:

«There was no need to call Louisa. One must not impose on their friends like this… one should save it for something truly important.»

Phryne sharply turned to him. She could barely believe her ears.

«If Mother hadn't been forced to sell the motorcar and I didn't want to spare us all from gossip conveyed by a taxi driver, I wouldn't have to call anyone».

«I was only trying to help your cousin and to keep him away from us. I didn't want him court-marshalled when he first showed up and I still didn't want it when he returned.»

Miss Fisher stepped down and walked forward towards her father.

«You can't coast on your one good feeling forever. Are you expecting the King to knight you or something? Eugene didn't make you buy a lame horse that 'would definitely get better and have great odds at Epsom first and Ascot later' or invest in the failing McKenzie Cavalcade of Mysteries, just to name some of your stellar investments at the top of my head».

«Why must you be so disbelieving all the time?», said Henry.

Phryne couldn't stop snickering.

«So disbelieving? I have given you more chances than what you have ever deserved», Phryne said coolly, trying to keep her voice down even if she was quite sure her mother hadn't been able to fall asleep until they were back, if at all even afterwards. «Given that putting the wife you claim to love so much through all you've been doing doesn't seem enough to reconsider, have you ever stopped to think that your recklessness endangers everything, including those things you prize so much like the club? Do you think Henry Fisher of Collingwood, Australia, with no fixed occupation, name or money to himself would ever been put forward for consideration? If you become a penniless peer, you won't be able to pay your dues and if you think your 'old chaps' will meet with you anywhere else, you are deeply mistaken. They may acquiesce at first, out of pity and some vague ideal of 'doing the right thing for poor Henry Fisher', but it will subside – they have done their duty, it's time to move on. I've seen it. For someone who has been on ther other side most of his life, you seem to have forgotten how fast tables turn».

«You're so wrapped up in your righteousness, you can't see I'm doing my share too», spat Henry, tapping his chest with his right index finger.

Phryne's eyebrows rose in incredulity.

«I'm maintaining these connections, knowing the right people is important, you know».

«Let's assume part of it it's true. Still, it isn't enough to stop the absolute haemorrhage bleeding the barony dry. I will be fine in all regards. Emotionally, Mother won't but Aunt Prudence and I will be by her side and help her financially and you will be alone and bankrupt and it will all be your own doing», Phryne said with a certain amount of disappointment in her voice. It was difficult to summon anger when one had made the same points over and over again.

«You've always looked at me with scorn and put the burdens on me, expecting me to do everything», Henry's hands flew cut through the air as he spoke. «But I can't, do you hear me, I can't. You and your mother have ganged up on me for months and I don't know what else to do. I've signed every paper she asked for, haven't I? Even if I don't want to. Even the solicitors paid for with my own money come and give me orders! Has anything like this ever been seen?»

«Signing papers may be a step but it's not all. Have you really talked to her? It isn't enough – look at Mother! What this is doing to her. She's always busying herself and trying to charge forward but the only time I've seen her in worse shape was when Janey died. You say you can't do anything else, well, I'm not sure how much she can either». Phryne had spoken quietly but she was breathless by the time she stopped talking and stood looking at Henry who, in turn, was looking at her as if blinded by lightening.

«I…I had no idea», he said eventually, his voice much milder «We have talked. She knows she can tell me everything.»

«I don't think she feels that at the moment.»

Henry stayed quiet, seemingly pondering on what his daughter had told him.

«I'm going to bed. Consider this another chance», Phryne said. Perhaps trying to siphon through their conversation would do him some good.

* * *

A/n: Thank you for reading this new chapter. There's probably too much Henry for your taste, but he's so intertwined with Phryne's trip to London, it kind of comes with the territory for me. I don't think Phryne would have anything against England per se, but I don't think she would have returned there in that particular time of her life if not to return him.

Brooks's does exist and is an exclusive gentlemen's club that exists since the 18th century. The address and facade fit the reality, but I played loose with the rest because research didn't help much since it is well... private.

This wasn't an easy chapter to write as I grappled with the doubt 'am I going over and over the same points again?', but I hope I was able to add something to what has been said in the show and in the fic itself.

I hope you enjoy this chapter. Next will bring Phryne at the Gargoyle, so I hope that's something to look forward to.

Feedback is appreciated as always. Thank you.


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